


like it's a game

by soldouthaz



Series: like it's a game 'verse [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Friends, Blowjobs, Bottom Louis, Desperate Louis, Dry Humping, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time Sex, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Getting Together, Harry pov, Hate to Love, I'm Sorry, Insecure Louis, Jealous Harry, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Pining, Possessive Harry, Protective Harry, Size Kink, Some derogatory language, Top Harry, Virgin Louis, Virginity Kink, brief louis/omc, even MORE bathing scenes, kind of, lots of truth or dare, mention of past drug use, must get rid of toxic in community, not between Harry and Louis, secretly sweet harry, slang terminology for loss of virginity, slight angst, slight praise kink, small cock louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23941270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.and louis.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: like it's a game 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039042
Comments: 203
Kudos: 1609





	like it's a game

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this was orginally supposed to be a PWP...it is not. There is definitely a plot and definitely feelings and it's longer than I wanted it to be but i'm pretty satisfied with it :) 
> 
> enjoy!

There is little Harry hates more than truth or dare. 

He hates the fact that it’s a children’s game, first and foremost, and also the fact that everyone acts like children when they play it, which is at least three nights of the week in his friend group. 

All of them are far past drunk at this point, sitting in a circle on the floor with the coffee table pushed out of the way. Niall is ever the gracious host but even he is stumbling over himself to get back to the living room, another beer in each hand. 

He plops down next to Harry with a grunt, liquid sloshing out of the open can and onto Harry’s shirt. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry puts a hand to his temples and sighs. 

“Sorry, mate,” Niall slurs, bumping their shoulders. 

Sparing a glance around the rest of the room, Harry’s eyes fall on the rest of the players. It’s a familiar group, one he finds himself around nearly every day, but he much prefers the sober versions. Or, really, if he’s being honest, he’d rather just be alone. 

“Dare,” Emily says, smirking at Liam from across the floor. 

“I dare you to,” he pauses thoughtfully, then grins, “kiss Ana.” 

“Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got?” She asks, leaning forward to pull Ana in by her neck. 

They kiss messily right in front of Harry’s face for a few seconds before pulling back. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see that Liam and Niall have gone a bit breathless. Harry remains unaffected, even as Ana’s hand comes to rest dangerously high on his thigh just like it always does when she drinks. 

He gives her a tight smile in response. 

“Harry,” she purrs, “truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” he says. 

She pouts, “You’re no fun.” 

Shrugging, Harry takes a sip of his own glass, cool water soothing only a portion of his annoyance. 

“Fine. Where’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?” 

Across from them, Liam throws his head back in a laugh. 

“And you thought _my_ question was unoriginal,” he snorts. 

“Shut _up_.” 

Harry considers the question with all eyes on him. He carefully avoids each probing gaze, letting a smug mask fall over his features. 

“Probably an elevator,” he sighs. 

The girls gasp scandalously while they guys cheer him on. Niall tries to high-five him but misses his target, landing a hard slap on his bicep. Harry guesses it's the thought that counts but the sex hadn’t even been all that good, and hardly congratulatory. As the game continues and the next person goes he tries his best to tune all of them out. 

It’s not that Harry isn’t grateful for his friends - they’d all been incredibly welcoming when he first moved here. He’d been nineteen at the time. Now, at twenty-four, Harry feels like he’s matured and the rest of them are stuck in their teens. All any of them care about is sex and drinking, which bar is having the best special that weekend. It’s exhausting. 

But Harry’s put up with it for five years now and he doesn’t feel like he can just up and leave. They all live close together, have friends of friends and common workplaces. If he were to try and cut them out, they would know immediately. 

So he settles back against the edge of the sofa and shifts around on Niall’s thin carpet, rubbing absently at the ache already blooming in his lower back. Each of his friends pick dare each time, looking for a cheap, drunken thrill. Ana’s hand trails higher until her fingertips just barely graze where he’s tucked away in his boxers. Readjusting his legs abruptly, Harry nudges her off. 

“What about you, Louis?” Niall asks, “Truth or dare?” 

If he’s honest, Harry’d forgotten Louis was even here. He tries to actively, most of the time. The older boy blends right in anywhere he is, always wearing big sweaters and jeans, his worn out vans tapping along wherever they go. 

He moved here around the same time Harry did. Immediately, they didn’t get along. Soon the minor disturbance became a full blown hatred, and neither of them were good at biting their tongues or letting go of petty grudges. 

Admittedly, he could go back and forth with Louis all day, each insult quicker and wittier than the last. It would almost be exhilarating save for the fact that Harry still can’t stand him. 

“Uhm, truth,” he says, sliding his hair from his face. 

Louis hates attention. Which is precisely why Harry does everything he can to give it to him whenever possible. He fidgets underneath everyone’s eyes, the only one sitting outside of the circle shape they’ve formed. Harry watches his arms wrap protectively around his chest. 

“Okay,” Niall hums drunkenly, his words scrambled and broken. “Uh, favorite position?” 

“Do you even know what you’re saying, mate?” Liam wonders aloud. 

Harry hears him, too, but he’s mostly focused on what Ana’s just said. She leans in extra close to Harry’s ear and he can feel the sticky, too-warm breath ghosting over his neck. It’s where it all starts. 

“He’d have to have had sex first to know that,” she giggles rudely. 

And, somehow, Louis’ eyes meet his at the exact moment she says it, his face coloring. Harry knows he heard her, knows how loud she’s being when she thinks she’s quiet. He doesn’t think anyone else notices, Niall and Liam still cackling and Emily scrolling on her phone, but Harry’s mouth drops open the slightest bit. 

Yeah, he’s going to hold onto this information. Harry would doubt the source, but he knows Louis and Ana used to be close. She would know. 

Louis mumbles his answer quietly but no one is listening anymore. The television is flipped on, Liam and Niall moving up to the couch to resume a video game from earlier. Groaning in unison, the girls trail off to one of the bedrooms together, giggling. 

He sees Louis stand, headed toward the bathroom. Harry has an opening. Before Louis can make it around the corner Harry’s two steps behind him, effectively trapping him between the tight walls before he can get to his destination. 

“That was a nice game, hm?” 

Immediately Louis spins as if he’d been waiting for it. 

“Look, Harry, don’t -” 

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands, sweetheart,” Harry smirks, leaning in close, using his favorite nickname. 

“You know, you don’t have to be a complete arse about everything,” Louis bites, “the least you could do after how rude you’ve been is to keep it to yourself. I don’t even know why Ana’s all over you all the time, honestly, you’re such a prick,” he finishes, huffing. 

Harry leans against the opposing wall and smiles until Louis sags. 

“Don’t tell anyone, Harry,” he whispers. 

“What’s the magic word?” Harry hums, grinning. 

The inner battle going on inside of Louis’ head shows through his eyes, his lip caught between his teeth. Pushing off of the wall, Harry moves closer, raising a brow, growing impatient. He thrives off of this kind of thing. 

“Please,” Louis relents quietly, eyes darting back and forth toward the living room. 

“See?” Harry asks, patting the top of his head, “That wasn’t so hard.” 

“Fuck _off_ ,” he groans, sliding underneath Harry’s arm to escape back to the den. 

Before he goes, he brings a swift knee up to Harry’s crotch. Not expecting it, he doubles forward, the breath knocked out of him. When he glances back up, Louis is rounding the corner with a grin. He hadn’t even gone to the bathroom. 

Harry cradles where he’s just been hit, a huff of laughter leaving his lips as his forehead thunks against the wall and his jaw clenches painfully. 

There is little Harry hates more than truth or dare, and _Louis_. 

+

He brings it up whenever he can over the next two weeks. Every time they’re alone, when everyone else is too busy to notice, whenever he feels like he can get away with it. 

Harry corners him in hallways and restrooms and anywhere else they find themselves dragged by their friends. Louis’ barely contained anger radiates off of him in waves but they’re always interrupted before he can come up with any sort of rebuttal for Harry’s teasing. Just the way Harry likes it. 

His favorite method, though, is when Louis’ flirting with someone else. Or, when someone is flirting with him, rather. While Louis himself is shy and tends to avoid most social interaction if he can, people never seem to get the message. Without fail, everytime they go out someone tries to get his number. Usually Harry just enjoys watching how awkward it can get, but recently he’s been having a little fun of his own. 

“What was wrong with that one?” He asks abruptly, startling Louis after the guy walks dejectedly away. 

A hand flies to his chest defensively as he turns to face Harry, scared before his expression morphs into irritation again. He leans in close so Louis can hear him over the noise. 

“Don’t think he can satisfy you?” 

“No,” Louis snarks. “I don’t.” 

“Oh?” Harry’s brows raise as he leans back, surprised at his honesty. “That’s the third one today, surely you can’t be that high maintenance?” 

“Try me,” Louis says, hopping up onto a stool. 

Turning to survey the small crowd around them, Harry’s eyes scan for anyone he can suggest. They’ve got to be attractive but not overly so, enough for Louis to still, ultimately, turn them down. 

“What about that one over there?” He gestures to a guy surrounded by a group of people all dancing together, “He looks like he’s quite the socialite.” 

Louis chokes on some of his drink. “No socialites, thanks.” 

“Alright. What about him?” 

The guy he points to next is still in a suit, presumably from an office job he’s just gotten off of. Surrounded by a table of colleagues, Harry can make out his smug speech from here. He grimaces. 

“Definitely not,” Louis shakes his head. “Too proper.” 

“Going for improper, then, are we?” Harry hums, grinning, “Someone a bit naughty, hm?” 

“Shut up,” Louis growls, eyes down on his glass. Harry wonders if he’s even been looking at anyone else tonight. 

“Your turn, then.” 

Halfway hoping Louis still won’t find anyone, Harry downs his own drink to prepare for his answer. It helps, really, because then he doesn’t have to hyperfixate so much on why he wishes no one would ever be good enough for him. 

Cheeks flushed either from the alcohol or from being forced to stare at strangers, Louis huffs as he glances around them. It’s minutes spent in silence while Harry watches his eyes, but they don’t seem to actually go anywhere. Louis sips his drink and flicks his gaze to the same couple of spots on the floor and ceiling until Harry calls him on it. 

“I guess no one’s good enough,” he sighs, “Your standards are too high. S’cause of that big ego of yours.” 

“Fuck you,” Louis says, “Like yours isn’t twice the size of mine.” 

Biting his lip to hold in the honking laugh, Harry glances at him and waits for the double entendre to be recognized. When it is, Louis colors bright red all over again and sneers at him, hitting him once in the shoulder. 

“Pig,” he mutters. 

“You said it,” Harry raises his hands defensively. 

“I don’t need anyone, anyway,” his voice fades quieter. 

Harry’s head snaps over to look at him as soon as the words leave his mouth. They’re never really all that sincere with each other but that sounded decidedly vulnerable. Harry knows that tone of voice, knows that him saying he doesn’t need anyone is probably more of a cry for the opposite. He’s said it before, too. 

Instead of making any more fun of him, he signals for two more drinks and turns back to face the crowd so what he’s about to say doesn’t come off quite as heavy as it sounds in his head. 

“You know what, it’s fine anyway. You shouldn’t pick someone from here.” 

Laughing softly, Louis’ eyes flutter up to his. 

“And who should I choose, then?” 

And - _dammit_ , he thinks. Why do they always do this? Why does he always have to say something like that catches Harry off guard, that makes his mind race with impossible possibilities. It always ends like this - some intimate, heavy blanket weighing over the both of them, too much banter that the lines have gone blurred again. They’re supposed to hate each other. 

_I don’t know_ , Harry wants to say. 

_Me_ , Harry wants to say. 

“Don’t really give a shit,” he says. 

They both snap out of it at his tone. Louis physically jerks like he’d been shaken, his eyes glazing over until they’re neutral. It takes Harry a moment to realize he’s still too close to him, moving back as well. 

Through the thickening crowd, he can see Niall waving him back over to their table. He’s been gone too long now anyway, preoccupied with his joke-turned-serious to pay much attention to them. He stands with his new drink, nodding to Louis. 

“You coming?” 

“I’ll meet you guys over there,” he says, chin tilted down toward the bar. 

Shaking off the guilt, he nods once and slips back into their booth next to Liam. Then he tries not to glance back over to where Louis still sits at the bar, alone. Even with his back turned to all of them, Harry can picture his face. 

“Alright, man?” Liam asks. 

“Yeah,” Harry swallows a sharp mouthful of his drink to distract himself and forces his eyes back to the table. “Fine.” 

+

At the end of the next week, things have gone back to normal. Mostly. 

They go to yet another bar because their only personality traits are drinking and partying, and he and Louis fall behind the rest of the group on the way there. 

“Think you’ll find someone tonight?” 

“Thought we established already - I’m too high maintenance,” Louis shrugs. 

“That’s not very optimistic,” Harry tuts, “Have a little faith.” 

Hypocritically, Harry feels very much not an optimist tonight. Their weekly outings are beginning to get on his nerves more than usual, and he’s not sure how much longer he can take the rest of them. 

The only thing he’s even looking forward to is teasing Louis again, but he can’t do that if Louis won’t cooperate. If he was normal, Harry would just talk to him. About the weather, or his job, or the rest of their friends, even. 

But Harry isn’t normal and he seems to be incapable of finding an excuse to talk to him if it isn’t part of some joke or stupid game. He reassures himself by thinking that Louis could talk to him too, if he wanted, and he doesn’t. He rarely initiates conversation with anyone, so when he speaks directly to him Harry actually feels a bit lucky. 

Then Louis sticks a small foot under his as he goes through the door to trip him and Harry hates him all over again. The smug grin on his lips when he stumbles sticks behind his eyelids. 

“Classy,” he mutters. 

“As always,” Louis smiles, skipping away with the rest of them. 

Inside of the club everything is darker and louder, and Harry struggles to keep an eye on the back of his old vans as they navigate to a private table near the back. 

“I’ll get the drinks,” Emily tells them, already headed off toward the bar. 

Harry slides in on one side while Louis hesitates a few inches away, lips pursed while he glances between Liam’s side and Harry’s. There really isn’t enough room on Liam’s side so Harry scoots over until Louis can slide in next to him. 

Louis catches the movement and sighs gratefully, stepping toward him to sit down. At the last minute, with Louis’ foot already in the air, Ana steals it from him. She slides in beside Harry in a rush, pecking his cheek dangerously close to his mouth. Harry stutters and looks up to him to apologize, but Louis isn’t looking anymore. 

“Thanks, babe,” Ana smiles tightly, a hand already on his arm. 

Face blank, Louis asks Liam if he can squeeze onto the end of their side. He never looks back up at Harry. Emily comes back with their drinks, and he’s lost his chance completely once everyone gets going. 

“A quick game to get everyone moving?” Emily prompts, a single brow raised obnoxiously. 

Biting his tongue extra hard, Harry tries not to let his annoyance show outwardly. He keeps hoping that they’ll get tired of truth or dare eventually, but they just never seem to grow up. If Harry was brave, he’d stand up and walk out right now, tell them to call him when they’ve realized they aren’t fifteen anymore. 

Instead he sits silently and waits for his turn. Probably something else about his sex life, he figures, and probably from Ana. That’s the way she usually plans these things. Harry makes eye contact with Louis across the table and subtly mimes a finger-gun to the bottom of his throat. Louis hides his grin and laughs into his palm. 

Ana sees it happen. 

“Louis,” she beams too brightly, cutting off Niall’s question. 

Louis’ cowering across from them now, almost, like he’s trying to pretend they can’t see him. The smile he’d had from Harry’s joke has faded completely. He looks small on the end of the booth. Ana doesn’t seem to care either way. 

“Truth or dare, Louis,” she asks. 

He figures Louis’ mouth opens to say 'truth’ like he always does, but Emily leans into his space and answers for him, smirking back at Ana. 

“He’ll do dare.” 

Harry wonders momentarily if they’d planned this ahead of time, then turns his head to listen intently in case they had. He might get some more vital information to keep for later. 

“I dare you to kiss someone,” Ana says simply. 

Something about it doesn’t sit right with Harry. The tone of her voice and the way she seems all faux-innocent screams sarcasm, almost like - 

Like Louis’ never kissed anyone. 

Harry snaps his eyes up when he realizes, meeting Louis’ wide ones across the table. There’s no way, Harry thinks. His standards must actually be high. Louis being a virgin is one thing, but he’s never been _kissed_ before, either? 

“Go on,” Ana ushers him like a child, waving him out of the booth with her hand. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry’s unsure of whether she did it to embarrass him or simply to get rid of him. Either way, his stomach sours at the exchange. 

Louis grimaces and slides out of the booth, disappearing into the crowd of people behind them. As soon as he’s gone Niall is asking Liam again, uncaring of whether or not Louis’ going through with it. Harry finds it odd that he does. 

He waits a few minutes so it won’t be obvious and downs the rest of his drink, nudging Ana’s shoulder. 

“Gotta piss,” he mutters. 

Harry knows where Louis is without having to think about it. There’s a spot in the hallway near the bathrooms past the doors at this particular bar, a dead end around a corner that’s always quiet since no one tends to linger there. It’s Louis’ go-to when he needs to get away from everyone and they’re here. 

Rounding the dark corridor, Harry sees his shoes first. Little white vans connected to the rest of him, just a sliver of the fluorescent light from the dancefloor highlighting the laces. The rest of his body is encased mostly by the darkness where he sits so he can’t see his eyes, but Harry knows his presence has been understood immediately. 

With a sigh, he stalks forward until his back is against the same wall, sliding down until he’s sat in the same position. 

“Not now, Harry,” Louis’ voice croaks. 

Harry ignores him. “Are you okay?” 

Louis’ head darts up to look at him just as Harry’s vision adjusts to the darkness, Louis’ arms hugging his knees tight to his chest. 

“Why do you care?” He asks, “Gonna go tell them I’m not doing it?” 

“They can be proper dicks when they’re drinking,” Harry tells him, avoiding the question he doesn’t know the answer to himself and hoping for a subject change. 

“Ha,” Louis breathes a sarcastic laugh like he includes Harry with ‘ _them_ ’, “yeah, they can.” 

Once he seems to understand that Harry isn’t here to add salt to his wound, he relaxes some. Harry still can’t see him all that well but he can feel his exhale resonate in himself, Louis’ knees not quite so together anymore. 

Steady bass thumps behind them through the wall from the other side. Every few minutes someone slams the door to the restroom around the corner but neither of them flinch. Harry wonders if their friends have even noticed they’re missing. Maybe, he muses, they think Louis’ kissing him. 

He keeps to himself until he can’t anymore. Although he’s pretty sure he already knows, he can’t help but ask, needing to hear it from Louis himself. 

“Has no one ever kissed you before?” Harry asks in a whisper, keeping his voice low in case anyone decided to follow him. 

He’s careful in the way he phrases it, trying to make it sound like he isn’t being judgmental. Genuinely curious, he keeps his eyes forward so Louis won’t feel threatened. 

“You already know the answer to that, don’t you,” Louis asks flatly. 

They fall back into a careful silence. Harry draws in a breath, afraid he’s overstepped. Why should Louis tell him? Harry’s given him no reason to. None of that explains why he wants to know so badly. 

Either way, Louis keeps his lips sealed shut. He sits next to Harry without moving, most likely a blush high on his cheeks the way he does when Harry corners him like this. Something about the darkness around them made Harry feel much safer, but perhaps it hadn’t had the same effect on Louis. 

Just as he braces to stand and leave him alone once more, Louis gives his answer. 

“No,” he whispers. 

Harry drops his body back down to the floor and brings his own legs up to his chest to mirror his position. Distantly, he can hear Niall’s booming voice, Emily’s shrill giggles, people talking at the bar as it fills up and thumping music in the background. 

He’s still not quite sure why, but he’d much rather be here. 

+

Another week, another club. Harry isn’t even sure where they are this time. 

Something about Niall’s promotion, something else about Liam’s birthday being next month and celebrating early. He’s too tired to ask. 

It’d been an awful week at his job, personally, and Harry would much rather be in bed by now, halfway to a deep, much-needed sleep. Instead, he’s got the girls on either side of him with their arms all linked together, trying actively to not let his feet drag the ground and betray his exhaustion. 

Liam and Niall are ahead of them holding the doors open, but Harry knows Louis is several steps behind without turning around to confirm it. Their friends abandon the door as soon as Harry and the girls are through without even checking for him. 

Struggling against where Emily and Ana each hold one of his biceps tightly with their manicured fingers, Harry tries to get them off to push it back open for Louis as well, but he only manages to cast a pointed glance over his shoulder before it’s slamming shut in his face. 

Before he can even apologize properly, he’s being pushed toward the bar. Louis sighs at the glass and lets himself in behind them. Harry wonders how many times that’s happened before when he hadn’t cared enough to pay attention. 

“To promotions,” Liam yells, raising his shot glass. 

“To early birthdays,” Niall points to him, copying his movements. 

The girls don’t even bother toasting anything, clinking their glasses together and downing them without pretense. Harry grimaces openly. He’s never been able to do that so easily, not even as a teenager. Bile rises in the back of his throat in sympathy. 

Once again, he and Louis are the only ones without drinks. Thankful to be rid of the pull on his arms, Harry shoves his hands into his pockets and stands to the side. 

“C’mon,” Emily hands him one, “you haven’t toasted to anything yet.” 

_To going home_ , he thinks. 

“I’m okay,” he declines. 

She frowns at him but doesn’t protest, downing that one too, before they’re going to find a table. It’s dark in the club, much louder with strobe lights around them flashing violently. Harry’s sure he’d already be vomiting if he’d taken a shot. 

Several times as they’re walking he glances over his shoulder to make sure Louis’ still there, receiving an unimpressed eyebrow raise each time. He figures Louis isn’t used to people checking on him. 

They make it to a vacant booth in the back of the place, a half-circle with a dim lamp in the middle of the table. Harry slides in after Ana and scoots down, leaving a spot open for Louis since the rest of them are already taken. 

Harry thinks he must really be knackered today because he’s never felt this guilty before. He feels like he should apologize for how rude they obviously are to him, for how much he’s ignored it on purpose before. Harry bickers with him but he doesn’t think he’d ever be as deliberately inconsiderate as they’ve been. 

It prompts a question that makes him even more tired when he thinks about it - what’s the difference between them that they like Harry so much and not Louis? If he’s completely honest with himself, he and Louis have a lot in common. More than he’d like to admit, actually, and he’s still noticing little things to add to the list. 

If Harry had moved in a week later than he had, if he’d done something just slightly different, would they be treating him the same way? 

“Did you want something to drink,” Harry leans over to whisper it against Louis’ ear, unsure of exactly why he does it. 

Louis seems to be equally stunned, glancing up at him curiously with a defensive edge. He crosses his legs under the table and shakes his head, his hands slipping comfortably between his thighs. 

“No, I’m good, thanks.” 

Harry knows he should keep to himself like he always does. Instead, he leans over again and clears his throat softly, keeping his voice low. 

“How many do you think it’ll take until Emily vomits again?” 

Eyes following Harry’s across the table, they watch as Emily downs the rest of her drink, stealing a sip from one of Niall’s as well. She’s known for being a lightweight, notorious in their group for being the first one to either pass out or vomit. 

Bringing a hand up to his mouth, Louis tries to hide his giggle with a cough. He smiles, leaning in conspiratorially. 

“Maybe three?” 

As if on cue, Emily belches loudly and everyone groans, immediately taking cover. 

“I’m fine,” she slurs angrily, “don’ look at me like tha’.” 

After that their conversation flows smoothly. The rest of them drink while he and Louis talk, voices just barely audible over the pounding music. Ana’s hand shifts from his elbow to his shoulder, digging in slightly like she’s trying to remind him she’s there. 

Harry ignores her. He always has to pretend like he’s interested in what she’s saying, but tonight he’s actually interested in what _Louis_ has to say. His tiredness has reduced his level of caring about her pouting significantly. 

Beside them he hears Liam ask someone truth or dare, and he and Louis share an eye roll. It makes them laugh even harder in their own bubble, ignoring the rest of their answers. Niall’s just now doing his anyway, and Harry and Louis are the last ones in the row. They’ve got time. 

Harry leans forward on the table and turns his back to the group as he moves into Louis’ space, subtly trying to nudge Ana’s sweaty hand off of his back. 

“I can’t believe no one’s ever kissed you before,” Harry whispers, careful that no one else hears. 

Swallowing with a blush, Louis shrugs. 

“Yeah, well,” he trails off. 

“You don’t, like, wonder what it’s like?” 

He’s got to stop pushing. It already feels like he’s asking too much, but Louis doesn’t seem all that uncomfortable, just shy. 

“I guess, sometimes,” he says, “But I don’t - I never get my hopes up.” 

Behind them, Emily answers Niall’s dare as the game moves around the table further. Harry draws even closer into him, straining to hear his every word. 

“Why?” He breathes. 

Louis stutters like it’s obvious, “I mean, no one would want to do that to - with me anyway.” 

Ana’s shoulder hits Harry’s roughly as she speaks too loudly. Harry’s next in line, he registers, but he doesn’t much care. 

“That’s not true,” he tells Louis. 

“Yeah, okay,” he laughs once, self-deprecatingly, “so who would?” 

“Me.” 

Freezing, color rushes into Harry’s cheeks when he realizes how close they’ve gotten, when he begins to understand what he’s just said. Louis’ mouth is open the slightest bit and his eyes drop down to it, already thinking about it despite his embarrassment. 

And he looks like he’s considering it, too. Louis’ own gaze moves between his lips and his eyes, brows furrowing. Each time he breathes Harry can feel it on his cheek. 

“Louis,” Ana says harshly, “truth or dare?” 

Harry snaps backward to look at her. She’d skipped right over him. Which usually only means one thing - 

“Uhm,” Louis starts breathily, gulping again. 

“I _dare_ you to go somewhere else and leave us the fuck alone if you’re just going to sit there and not contribute to the celebration.” 

“What the fuck, Ana?” Harry spits, turning further to look at her. 

“What? He comes out with us all the time but all he ever does is sit there and do nothing. He doesn’t even talk,” she whines drunkenly, “We’re supposed to be celebrating Liam and Niall and all he’s doing is trying to get your attention.” 

When Harry turns back to ask Louis if he wants to leave, he’s already gone. Sharp panic rises in his chest. This isn’t where they usually go and neither of them know where anything is. Louis could get lost or hurt and - 

“You’re not seriously going after him, are you?” 

With one last hard glare in Ana’s direction, Harry shakes his head at her and grabs his jacket, heading back toward the entrance as best he remembers. It takes him a few minutes but he makes it, spotting Louis trying to get to the door. 

“Louis,” he calls, rushing over to grab his arm just as he goes to leave. 

“Let me go, Harry,” he says. “I don’t need your pity. For this or for anything else.”

“Is it that difficult to believe that I might actually want to know if you’re alright?” Harry lowers his voice again, “And I sure as hell didn’t say what I said earlier out of pity.” 

Fixing the collar of his shirt compulsively, Louis laughs once, too hard and too loud, insecure. His eyes have gone wide like they do when he’s anxious and Harry wishes he could reassure him in some way he would take seriously. 

“Yes, it is that difficult to believe,” he says, ignoring the second part of Harry’s sentence. 

“Why would you think that?” 

“Because none of them like me, Harry,” he grits dramatically, then visibly deflates, quiter, and says, “ _You_ don’t like me.” 

Before Harry can give some sort of denial, Ana slides up beside him and puts a hand on his arm. And he just _can’t_ get away, can he? 

“C’mon, Emily and I are going to dance,” she tells him, then glances pointedly toward Louis, her expression souring, “You’re still here?” 

Huffing a sad laugh, Louis smiles wryly like she’s proved his point and side-steps both of them to get to the door. Harry catches his eye through the glass just as he’s stepping outside but he doesn’t try to say anything else. 

Louis’ right. He doesn’t need pity. Harry hopes he’ll realize at some point that it wasn’t what he’d been offering in the first place. 

+

Things begin to change after that. Louis doesn’t hang out with them as a group anymore, opting to make late night runs with Niall and Liam separately instead. Harry’s happy that he’s decided to keep some distance, to do what Harry’s been too afraid to do himself, but there’s one thing he hadn’t been anticipating. 

He misses him. 

It takes all of his pride to admit it even inside of his head but it’s no use trying to deny it anymore. Harry’s moped around the flat for a solid two weeks now, wondering if he’s alright, if someone else is getting to hear his quick, witty comebacks now and his tinkling laugh. 

No one is more surprised than Harry is at his remorse, being promptly hit with how much of a difference he made in the group. The only one who ever talked about something other than themselves. 

When they all went out before Harry would be excited while he was getting ready. Gloomy on the outside but secretly planning all of the ways he could bother Louis, to make him blush and scowl and bite back - to make him react. 

On Saturday he’d gone out with them again for the first time since Louis walked out. It was more than just mildly uncomfortable, and Harry knows the others felt it too. Niall and Liam seemed lost the entire time, looking too guilty to down their drinks like normal. Emily stayed on her phone, uninterested. Ana hadn’t even touched him once, the only silver lining of the evening. 

Though she’d been drunk, Harry’s still angry with her for what she’d said. No matter how much she wishes she had Harry’s attention, hurting someone else’s feelings hadn’t been the way to get it. 

In fact, all it’d done was make Harry feel even worse, even more likely to stay with Louis and ditch the rest of them. They’ve been on thin ice for months now and he’s only now beginning to realize that Louis was the glue that kept him there. 

He caves only a handful of days later. Louis’ number’s been in his phone for a while now, ever since Niall borrowed it to text him once when he’d left his own at home. He’d felt some inexplicable need to save it then, and now he’s glad he had. 

Or, he thinks he is, at least. He’ll know soon enough. His text hadn’t been all that eloquent, somewhere between wanting to see him and not wanting him to actually know that, an odd mix of niceties and inside jokes Harry hopes he recognized. 

Flipping the phone over in his hand, he reads it one last time as he waits for Louis to walk into the cafe. 

_Hey, Louis. It’s Harry. I was wondering if you’d like to meet at the cafe on 5th around 7? I’ll even buy you a scone._

Harry winces at himself. His attempt at comedy had fallen flatter than he liked, unable to convey their same level of cleverness without being face to face. Louis loathes scones, has hated them ever since he was little and one of his friends made him eat fifty of them one after the other. He likes blueberry muffins much more, Harry’s noticed over the years. 

Which is why one sits freshly baked across the table from him now. Harry stares at it anxiously, trying to plan out what he’s going to say. If Louis even shows up, that is. His text hadn’t received a response. 

Seeing Louis before had been just another part of his day, conveniently baked right into his schedule because it was a part of everyone else’s. He’d been able to complain about it for that reason. Now that he’s got no excuse except genuinely wanting to see if he’s alright, Harry’s panicking. 

But he doesn’t have time to do that, either, because Louis’ walking through the door. 

Seeming casual, he steps in from outside and swipes the hair from his forehead like he does when he’s anxious, scanning the room to see if Harry’s already here. When he finds him, Louis inhales visibly and quickens his steps. 

“Hey,” Harry offers, gesturing awkwardly to the muffin. 

Louis’ lips quirk up on one side when he notices the food. He settles into his side of the booth and reaches for it, peeling the paper back from the sides. 

“Hi,” he nods, “Thanks.”

With that Harry scrambles to make small talk, asking how he’s been and about his job, useless information that he already knows Louis hates talking about. Immediately he can see through him, swallowing part of his muffin before he sags against the booth behind him. 

“Why are we here, Harry?” He asks softly, leaning in. 

“I guess I just - I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

Louis seems genuinely surprised by his admission, tilting his head to the side with a high raise of his brow. Harry grows defensive in his own seat, clearing his throat and shrugging like it’s not all he’s been thinking about recently. 

“What?” He asks. 

“Well, it’s just - not all that much has changed,” Louis says. Then, quieter, “I’m surprised you wanted to know.” 

“What do you mean nothing’s changed? You haven’t been out with us for two weeks now.” 

“I know, Harry, but you know how they are,” he trails off, waving a hand. 

“I do?” 

“Yes. They don’t like me. They’ve never really liked me, I don’t think, and they’ve made that very clear,” he laughs. “To be honest it’s been much nicer to just get to stay home. They just ignored me when I came out anyway.” 

Jealousy strikes Harry sharp inside of his chest. Why can’t it be that easy for _him_? He’s been wanting to find an escape for months now and Louis lifts out of the equation without a trace. It’s depressing and everything he wants all at once, a bitter cocktail of emotions whirring in his belly. 

“Oh,” he says, “alright, then. That’s - that’s good.” 

Louis’ eyes linger as he finishes off the rest of his food, wiping a crumb from the side of his mouth with his finger. 

“Are _you_ okay?” 

“Yeah, ‘course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Harry breathes, re-crossing his legs. 

“You’re all - jumpy. S’weird.” 

Harry watches him crumple up the muffin paper in his hand, tossing it back and forth until it falls flat onto the table between them. 

“I’m okay,” he offers. 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis scoffs. “Well, if you decide you want to talk about it,” he trails off, hands clasped together in his lap as he leans back invitingly. 

Harry thinks about what he’d say. How to say it without sounding completely inconsiderate, like some kind of cocky asshole. What kind of fool complains about having friends? Harry, apparently. 

“Maybe next time,” he settles on. 

Louis grins smugly, “This gonna be a regular thing, then?” 

“Well, I just meant, like -” 

“S’fine, Harry. I wouldn’t mind it.” 

He hadn’t considered that yet. He and Louis being friends sounds foreign, but he guesses they haven’t actually been that far off this entire time. Maybe they’d even clashed simply because they were the only two who were capable of higher level thinking. 

“Oh,” Harry says, “alright.” 

The longer they sit at the booth the more normal it seems. There’s still tension around them, still just a bit of awkward silence and staring into space, but for the first time in the last couple of weeks, Harry’s happy. Not like before, not like when it's hollow. It feels like something else altogether. 

When they stand up to leave Harry brushes past him to get the door and his hand accidentally brushes the curve of his arse. 

“At least take me to dinner first, Styles,” he quips. 

“Just took you to lunch, does that not count?” 

It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it like some sort of reflex, but he doesn’t have time to panic before Louis’ giggling into his hand with a blush, turning away so Harry won’t see it. Grinning back, Harry swings down to bump their shoulders together on the way to the car. 

Louis stops at his own, stepping off the curb to unlock it and slide in. 

“You’ll text me, yeah?” 

Harry nods, “Yeah, I’ll text you.” 

He jogs to his own car parked a bit further down, slamming the door a bit too hard behind him. Then he sits there for a few minutes, hands on the steering while, a surprised smile still on his lips. He waits until he sees Louis leave the lot in the rearview to switch the ignition. 

Maybe, he thinks, they’ve actually been friends this entire time. 

+

It’s only a handful of days until he sees him again. They’ve been texting back and forth, stupid little things that put a smile on Harry’s face even when he’s got tons of work to finish, when he’s too overhwelmed to talk to anyone else about it. 

He isn’t expecting it when Louis comes to his flat, though. Hadn’t even really known how he got his address since they rarely ever hung out at his when they were all together. But he had shown up, still fairly early in the morning, just as Harry’d finished his breakfast. 

Confused when he peers through the peephole, Harry frowns and backs away to unlock it so he can come in. 

“Louis?” He asks. 

Without any introductions, he steps past the threshold and nudges Harry out of the way, closing it behind him. Something seems off but he can pinpoint it, a hurriedness to Louis’ movements that he’s never seen before. He smooths out his jacket and inhales deeply, then nods to himself, making perfect eye contact. 

“I want you to do it,” Louis says. 

“What,” Harry deadpans, scrambling to think back to what he could be talking about. 

“That’s what you meant the other night, yeah? That you would kiss me?” 

_Ah_ , Harry thinks. _That_. 

“Well, yeah, but - I don’t know if it’d be such a good idea,” he hesitates, trying not to focus on how close they are, how much he’d rather just say _fuck it_ and do it anyway. The need he’d felt that day rushes back to him in waves. 

“Why not?” 

Harry stutters, mind racing to find a real reason good enough to keep them from doing this. He can’t explain it but he feels like this is still some kind of game, like Louis might hold it over him later or something though it isn’t rational. 

“You’ve waited so long I think you deserve some buildup, y’know? Like a proper date n’all of that. Someone you like.”

Stepping closer, Louis puts a hand on his chest and rolls his eyes back into his head. Lips curving up on one side, he huffs a quiet laugh into the space between them. 

“I’m not actually that high maintenance, Harry. I don’t need any grand gestures.” 

“I know, but I -” 

Louis takes it upon himself to cut Harry off, smooth lips landing on Harry’s own. 

He tastes a little like toothpaste and a lot like something sweet, obviously inexperienced but eager to please all the same. He’s straining on his toes to reach Harry’s mouth with his hands limp by his sides. 

The entire thing only lasts a few seconds before he’s pulling away again. This time when Harry meets his eyes he looks nervous, breathing faster and blinking rapidly while he waits for a reaction. Figuring it’s already happened now, he returns for just a bit more, this time with intent. 

Harry cradles his jaw on either side of his face, his hands engulfing most of the skin of his cheeks and spanning out over his ears and the top of his neck. He bends slightly to make up for the difference in height, then leans in for a second time. 

It’s entirely different but exactly the same, Louis’ smaller hands coming to grasp at his wrists. Harry slots his lips over Louis’ languidly, licking into his mouth, over his taste buds and his front teeth. 

For his part, Louis practically melts in his arms. Harry’s never seen him so docile in his life. All of the fight has slipped out of him as Harry swallows it down, greedily sucking on his tongue. It elicits a soft whimper from him that he files away for later. 

A few times he pulls back to switch angles, adjusting Louis’ head like putty in his hands. Nestled in his front hallway, it feels personal and normal in a way that it definitely should _not_. Harry feels much too good to care. 

His lips part from Louis’ with a wet smack. There’s spit on his chin when Harry pulls away and he wipes it from his skin with his thumb. Hands still holding Louis’ face, he looks at him as seriously as he can manage. 

“Was that alright?” 

“Yeah,” Louis clears his throat, voice airy, “was great.” 

Neither of them seem ready to move so Harry keeps holding him as long as he’s allowed. It’s interesting - Louis is a lot less annoying when Harry’s kissing him. He’ll have to remember that moving forward. 

Every part of him itches to lean in again, to taste him just one more time before he leaves. This had been nothing more than a friendly favor, he knows, but he can’t help himself, eager to explore this new side of Louis that he hasn’t seen before. Slowly, carefully, Harry inches forward. 

Louis still doesn’t pull away. 

+

As it turns out, he and Louis have much more in common than he thought. Though they haven’t kissed again, they hang out a lot now without the others, and not just at the cafe. Sometimes Louis comes over and sometimes he goes to Louis’ flat, and one of them cooks or brings takeout if they feel like it. 

Being around Louis feels like being around an adult, finally getting to have intellectually stimulating conversations and not just the bland, overused lines that he’s used to. It’s refreshing. Louis has real problems that he never used to talk about and Harry gives advice when he isn’t venting himself. 

They actually have most of the _same_ problems, like feeling out of place so often in their friend group and sometimes just in life. At this point, it’s just nice to feel a little less alone. 

He’s actually a lot more confident than he’d thought, too, unafraid of judgement when they’re locked away in one of their flats. Louis seems worlds different than when they used to be around everyone else, and Harry wonders if he was always like this when he was alone. 

“You’re a dick, yeah, but you’re the only one that’s never actually made fun of me for anything,” Louis explains. 

“What are you talking about?” Harry’s brows turn inward. “I make fun of you all the time.” 

He brings it up one day when he isn’t expecting it, a quiet afternoon with the television playing old reruns in the background. 

“We go back and forth, Harry,” he sighs, “we bite at each other but at the end of the day you’ve never actually judged me - not in a way that mattered.” 

And, Harry supposes, he’s right. No matter how much he’s annoyed Louis over the years he’s never set out to be intentionally malicious, to make Louis cry or feel bad about himself. There’s the initial thrill of the cut, but it doesn’t ever bleed. 

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “You’re welcome?” 

Louis barks a laugh, then huffs underneath his breath. “ _Dick_.” 

Or, other times when Harry gets vulnerable himself when he needs someone to listen. Someone that isn’t family and isn’t part of their group, someone that can give advice that takes his words for what they actually mean instead of twisting them to what they want to hear. 

“I think that’s why I’ve always been so,” Harry hesitates, “ _enamored_ by you. You’re the only one that seems mature for their age. Everyone else, they’re -”

“Children?” Louis finishes, smirking. 

“Exactly,” Harry agrees. 

He tries not to linger on the fact that Louis completed the same thought he’s had over and over again for years like it was something he’d thought for a long time, too. They’d had more in common than he thought. Just how much time had they wasted? 

“God,” Louis groans into his hands, “If I have to play one more game of truth or dare I’m going to kill them all. “

“I’ll help,” Harry offers. 

Huffing amusedly, Louis looks up to meet his eyes. 

“You aren’t - you’re not bad, Harry,” he whispers. 

It isn’t an apology by any means, but Harry thinks it might be more. Certainly feels like more, anyway, his breathing picking up at the rare compliment. Clearing his throat, he addresses Louis in the same way. 

“Neither are you, Tomlinson.” 

Not yet a sorry, but something else altogether. Small smiles on each of their lips, the living room had remained silent the longer Harry held his gaze. 

And then there are the times when Louis wants to talk about other things, like today. His lack of experience, namely. Harry’s glad he feels so open about it now, but it shocks him every time he mentions it out loud. Though he never specifies exactly, it’s always obvious what he’s talking about. 

“I’m just tired of it,” Louis complains, kicking his legs up onto Harry’s coffee table. 

Harry struggles to balance the armful of snacks they’d picked out at the shops that Louis refused to help him carry, kicking his flat door shut behind him. He walks over to the table to set them all down, stepping over Louis’ crossed ankles and collapsing next to him with a huff. 

“It’s your choice, Louis, it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks.” 

“But I’m not - it’s _me_ that’s tired of it,” he groans. “ _I’m_ the one that’s tired of feeling like no one wants me, like -” 

“Louis,” Harry stops him, “you know that isn’t true, don’t you?” 

He gets a slight shrug in response, defensive and jerky. His arms slide forward until they’re crossed against his chest. Even if he’s only looking for compliments, Harry continues, unimpressed. 

“Every time we go out someone tries to buy you a drink, Louis.” 

“I don’t really drink much,” is all he says. 

“That’s - that’s my point, though. You don’t put yourself out there. You don’t like attention and that’s fine, but you can’t deny that you know it happens.” 

His silence is enough of an answer. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Louis huffs, reminding Harry of the last time they were sat in a bar, looking for potential prospects. 

“Why,” Harry murmurs. “Why doesn’t it matter?” 

“It’s too late now. I’m too far behind. No one wants to be in a relationship with someone where they have to hold their hand the entire time through every little thing. S’annoying.” 

Harry takes a moment to himself to pause, his brows turning inward. He wonders where Louis gets his idea of intimacy. 

“Louis, that’s - that’s the entire point of a relationship, innit? To be there for them when they need it - however they need it? No judgment?” 

“I guess so, yeah,” he relents, “but I wouldn’t want to be a burden on someone I cared about.” 

Without even thinking about it Harry gives the answer he would give personally, as if Louis were hypothetically talking about him though he knows he isn’t. 

“You wouldn’t be,” Harry says. 

And Louis doesn’t ask how he knows or why he replied so quickly, he simply turns his head to catch his gaze and holds it there. He looks fragile on Harry’s couch, curled up in a hoodie twice his size and his bare feet crossed at the ankles. Harry wants to protect him from any of the ideas that have been planted in his head before now about relationships and standards. 

So he bites his tongue for right now and decides to wait until Louis asks him his opinion, shifting until they’re shoulder to shoulder in front of his television. He flicks something mindless on so that they’ll have some background noise, then reaches for the bag of crisps on the table. 

They share the bag until it’s gone. A few too many times his hand brushes Louis’ and he has to physically freeze for a moment before he moves again. He feels transparent, still feeling Louis’ eyes on him even now. 

Louis needs a friend right now more than anything else, and so does Harry, if he’s honest. He tells himself that’s all he wants and ignores it when Louis shifts even closer and throws a leg over his thigh, finally letting his eyes fall to the television instead of Harry. 

He takes a deep breath he hopes Louis doesn’t notice, his hand subconsciously coming to rest on his smaller knee. For now, they’re friends. When Louis needs something more than that, Harry hopes he’ll be the first to know. 

+

Ana texts Louis almost a month later. His phone had buzzed with it while he was in the kitchen, yelling for Harry to go ahead and check it for him. He reaches for it and slides his newly-inserted thumbprint across the home button to get in, clearing his throat to hide the grin at the evidence of how close they’ve become. 

The typo-ridden apology he’s greeted with is well overdue, seeming insincere in the way she often does. She’s been texting Harry too but he’d ignored them. He reads it to Louis when he gets back to the room. 

“She says she’s sorry and she messed up. That she was drunk and she wants us all to hang out again,” Harry summarizes. 

Louis snorts, handing Harry his tea before situating himself at the other end of the sofa with his own. “You mean she wants to hang out with _you_ again.” 

Pursing his lips, he accepts the tea but keeps his eyes on Louis with a tilt of his head. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Surely you aren’t that daft,” he sighs. “She can’t get enough of you. She’s always tried to get with you.” 

“Ana?” Harry asks, “But she knows I don’t - I don’t like her that way.” 

“Does she? Even Emily does it sometimes but Ana has it bad. She has to sit next to you wherever we go, has to be touching you somehow. If you ask me, she acts drunk sometimes just so you’ll catch her when she falls over.” 

“Wow - I guess I hadn’t noticed. I mean, I always just thought she was touchy.” 

“ _Niall_ is touchy,” Louis corrects him. “Ana is - something else.” 

He grimaces quickly but takes a sip of his tea to hide it from Harry. Now that he’s mentioned it, Ana has always tried to get too close to him for comfort, always the hand he knocks off underneath the table. He thinks back to all of the times she’s insulted Louis when they were talking. 

“That’s why she doesn’t like you,” he breathes. 

“Bingo,” Louis smiles. 

“Well, so why didn’t you tell me that before?” 

“We weren’t as close,” he shrugs. “I didn’t know if you liked her or not.” 

It takes a few minutes for all of the information to set in. He replays everything that hadn’t made sense at the time but fits perfectly into what Louis’ saying. 

Then that leads him to think about everything he’s missed out on because of it. Just how many times had he been on the verge of realizing how much he and Louis had in common each time she elbowed him on purpose or kept him distracted so he wouldn’t figure it out. He knows she hadn’t necessarily done it on purpose, but it still doesn’t sit right with him. 

“Do you?” 

From a few feet away, Louis’ voice startles him from the silence although quiet itself. 

“Do I what?” Harry asks. 

“Like her like that,” Louis supplies, suddenly shy. 

“What?” Harry coughs on his drink, “Ana? No.” 

“Oh.” 

He thinks he hears something like relief in his tone but he can’t be certain. Which - that opens an entirely different set of doors and Harry’s head hurts with everything he’s just pieced together. 

There’s still the main issue here, though, which is Ana. If he had it his way he’d just ignore it. Harry glances down at her text again as Louis reaches to take it from him and respond. 

“So what are you gonna tell her?” 

“That I’ll see her next week at the regular time.” 

“What? You said they were awful to you,” Harry says. “Why would you go back to them now that you’ve finally managed to escape?” 

Louis tilts his head at him knowingly, barely smirking. Perhaps Harry’d let a bit too much of his own mindset slip out. His face colors. 

“It’s fine, Harry. I’m sure they’re looking forward to seeing you again.” 

“That doesn’t explain why _you_ want to go,” he points out, desperate for anything that might convince him to stay away from them. 

Louis glances at him coyly, a slight smirk on his lips like he knows something Harry doesn’t. “Would you hang out with them again if I wasn’t there?” 

“No.” 

He shrugs in front of Harry as if he’s proven Louis’ point with his answer, already typing away on his phone. A thousand reasons rest on his tongue, aching to tell Louis just to ignore them for good, but it still isn’t realistic. They haven’t all talked since the last time, so there’s been no closure. Ana and the rest of them probably just think they’ve been busy. Harry fights the frown off his face at realizing he’s missed his chance all over again. 

“It’ll be okay,” Louis says, tossing his phone back to the couch. “We’ll have fun.” 

Harry can’t tell which of them he’s trying to convince. 

+

Somehow they manage to make it through the next Friday evening without truth or dare. It’s refreshing but it still doesn’t feel quite right to be around them anymore now that he knows how some of them really feel. But Louis’ trying hard to get him to be nice and so, at the very least, he’s trying. 

Their friends have noticed the shift in their relationship now, the way he and Louis slide into their own seats next to each other instead of a table apart. This time when he leans over to say something to him Ana only glares but doesn't open her mouth. It’s progress, at least. 

None of them seem to have much to say about it save for a few sideways glances and Emily’s open mouth. He and Louis pretend they don’t notice. 

“So what’s been up with you, man?” Liam asks him, trying his best to fill all of the tense quiet with his question. 

When Harry glances around the table, most of them are drinking water now. He wonders if that’s supposed to make him reconsider not hanging out with them again. It won’t work, he doesn’t think, because now they’re all beginning to realize that that’d been their whole personalities. 

“It’s been really good lately,” he says, nudging Louis’ thigh underneath the table. 

No one asks Louis how he’s been but it doesn’t matter, Harry knows they’ll talk about it after they’ve left and it’s just them again, heading back to one of their flats. For a few hours it is admittedly nice to get out of the house, but by the end all Harry wants to do is go back to it. 

They make plans for next week at the same time which Louis says they’ll go to without consulting with him first. Oh well, he decides. If he’s got to go out at least it won’t be as terrible now. 

At least he’s got Louis. 

+

Harry’s newest fixation of hatred is a scrawny, red-headed, beady eyed man two years older than himself. Tom is not funny, though he thinks he is, and he stinks. Actually physically smells bad when they go out, when he sits himself right between Harry and Louis on purpose. 

He drinks even more than the rest of them do, which is slightly concerning, but he fits right in with everyone. In fact, seeing how much they’ve all embraced his presence has Harry considering just how much he _doesn’t_ fit here himself. 

Every so often he’ll glance over at Louis in hopes they’re thinking the same thing. It’s no use. Whenever he does, Louis’ already looking at Tom. 

And why wouldn’t he be? They’re dating, after all. 

Harry has no claim over him. There is absolutely no reason for the sinking feeling inside of his chest when he sees them together, the way his lip snarls in anger when Tom accidentally brushes past him in the crowded room. 

He and Louis kissed. Once. Nothing that would suggest the opportunity of anything more. Though Harry reminds himself of this in consistent intervals, it does little to soothe his annoyance. 

“So how did you two meet again?” Emily asks, leaning forward on the bar table, only now managing to be interested in some aspect of his life. 

Harry huffs to cover up his sour attitude. Louis opens his mouth but no one seems to notice. Tom talks over him. 

“I got transferred to the same building he works in. I’d go by and see him every day at lunch until he finally said yes to me taking him out,” he laughs loudly, fakely. 

It rings hollow inside of Harry’s ears. From the way he shifted, Harry can no longer see Louis’ face to check his expression. He can, however, see the grip he’s got on Louis’ arm. 

Tom holds him just the slightest bit too hard for Louis’ soft skin, leaving behind bright white fingerprints that fade quickly to red. Harry’s palm itches to soothe. To shove Tom out of the way and leave his own, more meaningful marks on Louis. Marks that Louis would _ask_ for. 

He can’t have those thoughts, though. He wasn’t really allowed to before and he certainly isn’t now, not when Louis’ new boyfriend is right next to them. It would be inappropriate. In the end, if he’s honest, it doesn’t really stop him. 

All night he sits there, feeling more alone than he has over the last several weeks, wishing he could scoot over and talk to him like he usually does. They still hang out but it's less now, only on the weekends so he can be with Tom after work. 

Harry’s bitter, is the thing. Because, even if he hadn’t realized it, he’d sort of been going along with the narrative that they were building up to something else. And he’s got no reason to be thinking that either, but he had been. 

Now all of the buildup seems like it’d been for nothing. Or maybe there hadn’t been any buildup at all and Harry’s just imagining things. Either way, he wants to throw a fit. Wants to shake Louis and ask him if he ever felt any of the same things when he barged into Harry’s flat asking him to kiss him for the first time, if he recognized any of the sighs every time they cuddled on the sofa. 

Apparently he hadn’t. He still looks just as small next to Tom, still as soft and lovely, but he just doesn’t seem happy. Harry knows he isn’t imagining that part. He wonders if Louis ever looked like that with him when they were together when no one else was around to see. 

The fingerprints from earlier stain Louis’ skin like a poorly drawn tattoo. Harry stares at them for the rest of the afternoon. They don’t fade, not even when Louis scrubs at them after Tom goes to the bathroom. Not even when Harry catches him doing it. 

In the fluorescent lighting of the bar, the imprint seems to taunt him. Harry still doesn’t look away - he can’t. Not even when Tom comes back and covers them up all over again, leaving new ones in their place. 

+

“Which one do you think I would look better in?” 

The question startles Harry, head jerking to find Louis standing in the hallway. He’s holding up two different shirts with a shy expression. 

They’re back at Louis’ flat since it’s the weekend, both off of work for the time being. He’s been enjoying just hanging out with him without having to think about anything else for a few hours. In his head he’d been planning to stay until late afternoon, but Louis seems to have plans already. 

“They’d both look good,” Harry says honestly, “What’s it for?” 

“Tom’s taking me out tonight,” Louis explains. “We’ve hung out before and stuff but tonight is our first official date, like, at a restaurant.” 

Harry’s silence does not go unnoticed. Louis hovers closer as he waits for an answer that he isn’t going to like. 

“I don’t care,” Harry says, looking back to his phone. 

“Harry,” he pouts with a whine, “I’m hopeless when it comes to fashion. Help me?” 

“I’m not going to help you pick out an outfit for _Tom_ ,” Harry laughs rudely, too loud in the small room. 

It echoes uncomfortably but he can’t erase it now. Silence settles thickly between them and he’s too nervous to look back at Louis’ face. Too afraid it’ll give away exactly what’s inside of his head. 

Louis steps around the couch to stand in front of him, trying to catch his eyes unsurely. He seems confused and Harry aches to comfort him but thinking of him and Tom going out actually hurts, and he knows he’s got no right to feel that way. It’s easier, then, if Louis just hates him again. That he won’t have a chance to explain anyway. 

“But - I thought we were -” Louis gestures loosely between both of them. 

_Yeah_ , Harry wants to laugh. _I did too_. 

“Yeah, well, we’re not.” 

He’s angry. Whether Louis meant to finish his sentence with - _okay, -friends_ , or anything else, Harry feels used even though he shouldn’t. He says it too harshly, voice booming in the small space. It sends Louis visibly cowering at first before he catches himself, straightening. 

“Don’t talk to me like that, Harry,” he says lowly, “It’s not my fault you can’t choose whether you like me or hate me.” 

Louis grabs his things and heads for the door. Harry watches him go without correcting him. He’s still in Louis’ flat, but he doesn’t point that out either. 

“Call me when you’ve decided, yeah?” Louis glances back at him haughtily, then slams the door when he isn’t graced with a reply. 

That hadn’t been how he’d pictured this evening going. They haven’t fought about anything since before all of this. Yet another sign that warns him Tom isn’t a good thing in Louis’ life. 

In the end it’s probably for the best this way, Harry reasons. He can’t say anything stupid if Louis isn’t around him. There’s a significantly lower chance of him making a fool of himself than if Louis continued trying to talk to him about Tom. If they really are good for each other, who is he to stand in the way? 

He zones out staring at a spot on Louis’ wall for a good thirty minutes before standing and letting himself out and locking it back with the spare key, heading back to his own flat numbly. When he gets there he climbs the stairs in a hurry and buries himself under the throw blanket on his sofa without changing out of his clothes, trying to sleep off the hot jealousy burning in his stomach. 

+

He sees Louis again the same night. It’s been hours since he left but Harry isn’t sure what the time is exactly, dark outside of his window but his kitchen light still on when he wakes up from his nap to light tapping on his door. 

“Louis?” He pulls it open with a creak, wiping sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, “What’re you doing here?” 

It takes a few seconds to wake up completely, sometime after his eyes refocus and his vision fills with a visibly upset Louis. Frowning, Harry leans forward instinctively. 

“He - he made fun of me,” Louis’ lower lip wobbles, his clear eyes filling up with tears. 

“For what,” Harry springs into action, his eyes widening, “what did he do to you?” 

Louis struggles to get the words out. Harry wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him to the sofa, grabbing the throw off the back of the couch to help his shivering. When not even that calms him, he heads to the kitchen and comes back with a cup of warm tea the way he knows Louis likes it. 

In the minutes he was gone Louis seems to have pulled himself together, although his eyes are still rimmed red and his lip is stuck nervously between his teeth. His tears clump his eyelashes together, striking black over his blue eyes. 

“Tell me what happened,” Harry asks softly. 

“We went back to his flat after dinner.” Louis takes a shaky breath, “Most of the time we just watch a film or something but tonight he - he wanted more. He asked me to get down on - on my knees,” Louis shudders again, not meeting Harry’s eyes, “He took off his pants and said ‘go ahead’ and I - I didn’t know what to do.” 

“S’okay, Louis,” Harry extends a hand to rub his back encouragingly. 

“So I tried to do it but he didn’t like it and I told him I wanted to stop. He got angry with me and said I was acting like I hadn’t done that before. When I told him I - I hadn’t he didn’t believe me, but then when he realized I was serious he started laughing,” Louis whimpers. “He said that I shouldn’t go around acting like a whore if I can’t follow through. That it was pathetic that I was this old and I hadn’t - I hadn’t -” 

Harry sees red. His hands shake from how angry he is, how much he wishes he could strangle Tom. Louis curls in on himself to the side, shrinking under Harry’s gaze. 

“Louis, c’mere, look at me,” Harry tugs the hand away from his face, taking the tea from his grip to place it on the table. “Are you listening?” 

Sniffling, Louis nods, though he still shifts anxiously. 

“You’ve done _nothing_ wrong, do you understand? Tom is a prick and he has no idea what he’s talking about. He doesn’t deserve you.” 

“I just - I wanted to be able to - I just couldn’t,” Louis struggles, tearing up again. 

“And that’s just fine. Don’t let anyone else tell you when you should be ready. Don’t let people make you feel bad because of their own mistakes and regrets, okay? Look at me,” Harry says again, “do you realize how lucky you are? Most people make so many stupid mistakes before they figure it out. You have the chance to do it _right_ , Louis. To do it right the _first_ time.” 

With his hands secured on Louis’ shoulders, Harry feels transparent. Like he’s just said way too much and exposed one of his own deepest fears and now Louis can hang it over his head. The same way Harry’s been doing to him, he thinks bitterly. 

“But I _do_ want to do that,” Louis whispers, stopping his train of thought. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Blushing, Louis crosses his legs and glances down at their laps, the places where their thighs are touching. 

“I wanted to do those things - what he asked me to, just - not with him, I think.” 

Harry swallows thickly, “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says. 

He tries not to imagine that image, Louis on his knees in front of him. He’d be quite the vision, all wide-eyed and lovely, but Harry stops himself before he can continue the fantasy. With anyone, himself included, it’s Louis’ decision. Always. For all he knows, Louis may not even be talking about him. 

Unless - he was, and he _wants_ Harry to offer? To fill in the blanks for him? Louis blinks slowly up at him, tongue running over his bottom lip until it’s wet, his frame curled up so he looks even smaller than normal. His embarrassed body language speaks volumes even though both of them are unsure, Harry’s mind running frantically. 

“Did - were you wanting me to-?” Harry asks him, leaving it open ended in case he’s completely misread the situation. 

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Louis waves him off, then flushes, “but, uhm, if you wanted me to…” 

“Louis,” Harry warns, “I need you to be sure about this. You need to tell me _exactly_ what you want. I don’t want to be a hypocrite or make you feel like you have to do something for me because of anything I’ve said -” 

“I don’t, Harry,” he rushes, “I don’t ever feel like that. You make me feel comfortable s’all and I - I know I wouldn’t regret it. With you. I wouldn’t - wouldn’t ask otherwise.” 

“You sure?” 

Louis nods quickly. Harry fights every instinct to tackle him right there, to manhandle him the way both of them would probably get off on. But Louis doesn’t know what he gets off on yet, Harry reminds himself, and he’s going to take this slow even if it kills him. 

“C’mere, then,” Harry pulls him close, both hands on his reddened cheeks. “Wanna do this right, yeah?” 

Like a sweetness Harry can’t put his finger on, Louis tastes the same as he did last time. Still timid, tender presses of his lips to Harry’s as he tries to copy the motions. Harry’s blood boils all over again. 

How could someone take advantage of this? Louis is so obviously trying his best, straining his body to fit into Harry’s contours and make himself even smaller, trying to be good. 

Everyone has their kinks, he understands, but Harry doesn’t see how someone wouldn’t find that particular distinction attractive in a partner. Harry is the first person Louis’ kissed, the only one he’s done anything like this with before. 

Which is why the fact that Tom’s disgusting extremities have been anywhere near him makes him absolutely _livid_. Harry licks into his mouth once before pulling back, petting Louis’ warm skin. 

“Do you want to get on your knees for me?” He phrases it in a way that puts emphasis on the want, drawing attention to the fact that this is solely Louis’ choice. 

“Yes,” he shakes his head, “yeah.” 

Louis raises himself from the couch. He barely stands to full height before he drops to the ground again, perfectly compact between Harry’s legs that spread to accommodate him. The perverted area of his mind screams that he was made to be there. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

There’s thick carpet under him but he wants to check anyway, to make sure every single aspect of this is nothing like what he’d experienced before. Harry wants him to look back on this years later, to think of it as a good experience. 

Nodding, Louis puts his hands on Harry’s knees and inhales deeply, determined. His eyes trail over Harry’s lap from his lower stomach to his thighs, his lips rolled together. Harry waits a few minutes in silence before he shifts to run a finger over his cheekbone. 

“You don’t have to do this for me, Louis,” he murmurs. 

“I know. I want to,” he insists. “But d’you think you could, maybe,” he glances up at the outline of Harry’s cock in his joggers, biting his lip curiously. 

“What do you need?” 

Louis licks his lips. “Could you, like, teach me? Sorry.” 

“Of course, whatever you want,” Harry says emphatically, still holding his cheek. “Don’t apologize.” 

He helps Louis get his joggers off first, lifting his hips off of the sofa until Louis grabs them to get them the rest of the way off of his calves. He grins when Louis folds them before setting them to the side. 

Then, carefully, his fingers raise to Harry’s waist, pushing his shirt upward until he takes that off, too. Harry can feel his blood running hot in his veins, excited already. He breathes deeply to keep himself from getting overly excited, hissing when Louis’ cool hands land over the band of Harry’s thin boxers. Before he can tug them off, he stops abruptly. 

“Do _you_ want this?” Louis’ voice fills the silence again, hesitant and insecure. 

And - does _Harry_ want this? Is that what he’s asking? 

Harry glances down at the already thick bulge in his pants, the contrast between his size and Louis’ hand making his mouth water. There is no easy way to say it because admitting to this would be admitting defeat. He’s spent so long ‘hating’ Louis that all of this hasn’t really registered inside of him just yet. 

It’s adrenaline and it’s some sort of high he can’t seem to get enough off, getting off on the thrill of having someone that was previously off limits. He can save all of the panic for some other time when Louis’ mouth isn’t so close to his cock, he figures. 

But he can’t deny how much he wants it. Wants to erase all of the years spent fighting with each other and fast forward straight to this. To avoid saying all of that, Harry summarizes. 

“You have no idea,” he says. 

He runs the pad of his thumb over Louis’ bottom lip as he glances upwards, eyes trusting now instead of upset like when he’d first arrived. At the last second he surges down to kiss him deeply once more before leaning back into the couch again. 

“You want me to teach you?” Harry double-checks, already queuing up ideas. 

“Want you to show me what you like,” Louis says. 

_Oh_. That’s a different request altogether, then. Harry could teach him how to give a basic blowjob, how to please someone generically, but instead Louis’ asking for Harry to show him what _he_ likes, specifically. There’s no way he’s going to last long tonight. 

“Fuck, okay,” he breathes, stopping Louis’ hand when it pulls on his boxers again. “Leave them on. Just touch for now, through the fabric.” 

Louis’ wrist looks out of place as he rests it gently on top of Harry’s cock over the material, tiny but unquestionably right. Harry hisses. His head falls back but he catches himself, staying upright and keeping his eyes open so he can experience every moment of this. 

“Like this?” Louis whispers, his mouth open as if in awe. 

“Just like that,” Harry tells him, running a hand over the back of his head. 

His hand moves just a bit over his length when he moves, fingers brushing against the sensitive, leaking head and making him jerk. Most of the time the people he hooks up with waste no time with getting his clothes off and trying to speed through everything else to get their own release. Secretly, Harry adores a bit of buildup. And, if Louis’ asking what he likes - 

“Tighter,” Harry tells him, wincing when his fingers dig in slightly, “good boy.” 

Louis whines up at him at the praise. Though it’s obvious he’s already worked up, Harry can tell he hasn’t tried to touch himself. He really is being good. 

Biting his lip, Harry lets his head fall back onto the sofa and breathes deeply through his nose. It doesn’t last for long, though, because his desire to see Louis on his knees outweighs anything else he’d been thinking, even if it feels absolutely amazing. 

“Put your mouth on it,” he directs, curling a hand around the back of Louis’ neck to draw him forward gently. 

With his boxers still on, he can feel Louis’ hot breath over him the closer he gets. Hesitantly and with a pronounced blush high on his cheeks, his pink tongue slips out from between his lips to taste him through the fabric. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry swears, tightening his hold on Louis but keeping it loose enough that he could move away if he wanted. 

He appears more confident every time Harry speaks, resting his hands on Harry’s thighs while he leans forward to get a better angle. Harry’s legs spread even wider until they’re pressed together completely. 

Louis places his lips near the head of his cock and suckles there. Harry thinks he might come much too soon, groaning loudly at how lovely the pressure feels. He does the same thing on a few different places over his length, then kisses the tip before Harry gives in. 

“Off, get them off,” he rushes. 

Hurrying to comply, Louis pulls at the waistband until they’re moving down his legs, then he tosses them off to the side without ever moving his gaze. He’s quiet while he stares at Harry’s hard cock dazedly. Harry wonders what he’s imagining - how much bigger Harry is than him, how easy it would be to overpower him with his size alone. How Harry would feel if he flipped Louis over and slid inside of him for the first time - 

“What now?” He gulps, looking back to Harry for help. 

His quiet confidence seems to have faded now. Harry doubles over to kiss him again, hoping it will offer some reassurance. 

“S’okay,” he coos, “You’re doing amazing. Give me your hand, sweetheart.” 

Harry takes Louis’ hand in his own, slowly wrapping it around his cock. He moves it up to the top before he slides all the way down again, fighting to keep himself as calm as he can given the situation. His eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open when Louis’ fingers flex experimentally, Harry’s bigger hand blanketing his. 

“Tha’s it,” he groans encouragingly, his grip loosening the more Louis seems to get the hang of it. 

Eventually his hand falls away completely, eyes falling to the space between his thighs to watch Louis please him on his own. Who could have ever laughed at him? he thinks again. Harry just feels lucky that Louis feels comfortable enough to ask him in the first place. He won’t let him down. 

“Stop, stop,” he hisses when Louis begins to really get it, stroking him so fast he’s already picturing dripping come on his face. “D’you still wanna suck me?” 

“Yeah,” Louis nods. “Please.” 

He pauses a moment to reach down and cup his face, fixing his fringe over his forehead where it’d gotten mussed. Coloring, Louis smiles timidly at the gesture. 

“Don’t take more than you feel comfortable, okay? And don’t hesitate to tell me if you need to stop.” 

“I was thinking - uhm,” Louis manages to color even deeper than he had before, a lovely red that Harry thinks suits him perfectly. 

“What is it, doll?” 

“I mean, I can do it myself if you want, but I was kind of thinking maybe you could just-” 

Louis leans toward him and grabs his wrist, putting it back from where it’d fallen off of the back of his neck. 

“You - d’you want me to fuck your mouth?” He whispers. 

Quickly, Louis nods, his eyes lighting up wide. Harry loses his mind all over again. 

“Yeah, I - _shit_ , Louis,” he huffs a laugh, kissing him again, “You’re amazing. Still tell me if you need me to stop though, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“I will,” he smiles shyly. 

Without wasting any time he relaxes again at Harry’s touch. He runs a fingertip over his cheek, over his eyebrow, then over the curve of his lips until they fall open for him willingly. Then he pushes further until two fingers rest over his tongue, Louis sucking on them sweetly. 

Harry pulls his hand back toward his own body and Louis stays attached to him, unwilling to let them go until Harry removes them when he’s back hovering over his prick. He grips the back of his neck like he’d wanted, then slowly feeds him his cock, inch by achingly slow inch. 

As he watches himself disappear inside of Louis’ mouth Harry feels like he’s floating. He’s done this plenty of times but something about the mood and the atmosphere and the person makes it a thousand times better. 

Louis heaves a soft sigh once he’s got half of Harry’s cock in his mouth, a little hum that Harry feels reverberate through his hips. He’s frozen, essentially, in awe of how well he’s doing even though he isn’t really doing much of anything. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters, “take it, Louis.” 

Harry’s eyes catch on his shirt, the same one Louis’d asked his opinion on earlier today. Clenching his jaw, he pictures how it’d look with his own cum staining the front. Louis wouldn’t be able to wear it to a date with someone else, then. 

It spurs him on, has him shifting backwards and forwards again, in and out of Louis’ waiting lips. When he leaves only the tip on his tongue, Louis goes back to suckling on it like he had through his boxers earlier and Harry growls low in his throat. Everything seems like a blur. 

“Touch - touch yourself, sweetheart. Want you to come for me if you can,” Harry pants. 

With a breathy whine, he sees one of Louis’ hands disappear below his line of vision, presumably to get a hand on himself where Harry hopes he’s hard. He doesn’t want to push him this time but, in the future, he vows he’s going to get his hands on him as well, make him come until he’s shaking. 

That image paired with Louis choking slightly around his length has him coming. It hits him too quickly and he doesn’t manage to warn him beforehand, but other than a surprised jerk of his body, he takes all of it. Swallows as much of Harry as he can before he backs away, lifting a hand to wipe the cum dripping down his chin. 

After catching his breath, Harry bats it away. He uses his own fingers to feed the excess to him, wiping it from his lip and his cheek and on the corner of his eye. Louis sags against his leg while he pets a hand through his hair, his eyes blissfully closed. Leaning forward, Harry peeks down to his lap below to make sure he was taken care of, then smiles at the dark, wet patch on the front of his trousers. Next time he’s going to ruin him. 

“That was so _good_ , Louis. You were so good for me, so good for your first time.” 

He reaches down and lifts him underneath his armpits until he’s in his lap, blinking up at Harry tiredly. 

“Good?” He asks, his voice raw and barely over a whisper. 

“Perfect,” Harry smiles. “Do you wanna sleep here?” 

“Yes, please,” he rasps, clinging to Harry as he stands them up. 

His grip doesn’t leave Louis’ waist as he walks him toward the bathroom to clean him off, then the bedroom so he can get changed and to bed. Tonight, he refuses to spare a thought for anything else but Louis. Regardless of what awkwardness may arise tomorrow, he can’t seem to wipe the grin off of his face, even as he drifts off holding Louis tight in his arms. 

+

When they walk into the bar together the following afternoon, their friends are already seated in the usual booth. Nothing feels off right away, but Harry doesn’t see the other person standing there for the concrete wall in his line of vision. 

He’s too busy watching Louis who’s laughing at one of his jokes, voice still scratchy, head thrown backward and eyes all crinkly. His laughter is infectious, seeping into Harry’s permanently scowling demeanor. After yesterday he feels closer with him than ever. 

“I know, right?” Harry hears vaguely, freezing his steps just a few feet away from the table. 

He knows that voice. Harry _hates_ that voice. 

“I just don’t know why he would do that, Tom,” Ana coos, leaning forward just a bit too far, Emily rubbing his arm on the other side. 

At this point Louis’ noticed, has stopped alongside Harry to see what’s going on. He can practically hear his gulp as his hand comes to rest lightly on his arm. 

“Harry,” he says softly, tugging on his sleeve, “we should just go.” 

He doesn’t listen. Harry stalks forward quickly instead, tapping Tom on the shoulder. His red head spins around smirking, most likely expecting Louis since he knows when they all meet. It seems just like him to do something like this, to show up and rub it in when he knows Louis’ going to show up. 

Harry punches him. Hard. Right in the nose, until bright red blood stains his hand, red-hot protective over Louis after the night before. Tom sputters, backing away in a hurry. 

“What the fuck, Harry,” Ana hisses, rushing to help him. 

“Louis’ the one that hurt _him_ ,” Liam says, glancing behind Harry accusingly, “it’s not Tom’s fault.” 

“What are you talking about,” Harry whispers disbelievingly, narrowing his eyes. 

“Tom told Louis about his feelings and they fucked, then the next morning Louis left without a word. No phone call, no note. Nothing,” Emily explains bluntly, a smug, out-of-place smile on her lips. 

“It’s unbelievable, honestly,” Ana says, “You give him a bit of attention and suddenly he’s a common whore.” 

“Stop it,” Harry spits. “He wasn’t with Tom last night.” 

“Where was he, then?” Niall wonders, glancing unsurely between all of them. 

Harry’s eyes trail slowly to where Tom is still crouching off to the side, cradling his bloody nose while Ana fawns over him. Giving a dry laugh, he shakes his head slowly at all of them. 

“With me,” Harry mutters darkly, storming away without checking their expressions. “C’mon, Louis, we’re leaving.” 

His grip on Louis’ arm tightens significantly, keeping hold of him all the way to the car. Only after he’s helped Louis in and slide into the driver’s side does he notice how upset he is. 

“Lou,” he breathes. 

It’s the first time he’s ever called him that but neither of them seem to notice the weight of the endearment, Harry much too distracted by trying to calm his breathing. 

“Your hand,” Louis whimpers, grabbing for his wrist across the console. 

Small fingers run gently over the fresh bruise blooming there and Harry’s eyes widen slightly. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d punched Tom until now, sharp stinging shooting through his hand when he flexes it. 

“I’ll be fine,” Harry tells him. “Are you okay?” 

Louis sniffs. “Yeah. I guess I should’ve seen that coming. I just didn’t think that they would believe him,” he shrugs, then pauses. Furrowed brows snap up to meet Harry’s eyes, “You don’t - _you_ don’t think I did anything like that, right?” 

Harry’s mind flashes back to last night. How distressed he’d been, desperate to feel safe again. And then Louis’ fumbling lips once he did, his inexperienced but eager technique, his innocent face looking up at him for validation. 

“I believe you, Louis. Of course I don’t think you did that. M’sorry they do,” he frowns. 

“S’okay,” he sniffs. “They’ve always been that way.” 

“ _Now_ can we stop hanging out with them?” Harry halfway whines. 

That at least gets a laugh of his lips, smiling timidly up at Harry. “Yeah, we don’t have to see them anymore.” 

“Thank God,” he groans happily, laughing even though he’s still incredibly angry with them all. 

He drives them home without saying anything else but he reaches over to take Louis’ hand halfway through when he sees his bottom lip begin to wobble. Louis smiles gratefully at him as he runs his thumb back and forth over his skin. 

Harry takes them back to his flat because some of Louis’ clothes are still there and he needs to dress his hand before it gets infected, and also because he thinks it’d be better if Louis weren’t alone at the moment. If he objects, he doesn’t say anything when Harry passes his exit. 

In the lift, he keeps a hand on Louis’ lower back. When he unlocks the door, he doesn’t let go of him. Once they’re inside, Louis clings to him even as he goes to find the first aid kit, even as Harry strips off his shirt to try to scrub out the tiny specks of blood left there. 

“I’ve got it,” he says, grabbing the bandage and disinfectant from him. 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-” 

“I want to,” Louis tells him, pushing him so he’ll sit on the cabinet behind them. 

Focused intently on his task, Louis blinks away tears while he cleans his knuckles. Harry nearly laughs again because they’re treating it like it’s a deep wound when it's really just a scratch across his knuckles, but he doesn’t want to disturb him. 

“Thank you, Harry,” he says. “For standing up for me and - for last night,” Louis blushes. 

“Don’t thank me, Louis. I don’t regret punching him at all, trust me. I just - I hope last night wasn’t,” he trails off, flexing his hand with a wince once he’s finished. 

“What do you mean? Did you not -” 

“No, no,” he rushes. “I thought it was perfect, Louis, but I just didn’t want you to _regret_ doing those things with me. You were so upset and I probably shouldn’t have taken advantage, especially with how we’ve treated each other in the past, but I - I couldn’t help myself.” 

He’s quiet for a moment while they put everything away, grabbing Harry’s shirt from the side of the counter to get the stain out before it sets. Harry struggles to keep his hands to himself as they cross the hallway to the washroom. 

“I just - I don’t know,” Louis fumbles. “In some ways it’s - it’s better, I think. Because, like, we don’t bother trying to hide anything. I feel safe. I don’t think you would ever lie to me just to tell me something you know I want to hear.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Harry says without hesitation. 

Louis smiles, looking down toward the tile between them like he’d already known that after he’s put the shirt in the wash. 

With the machine tumbling quietly behind them, Harry tugs him into his arms on impulse. It feels like something he needs right now and he hopes Louis feels the same, guesses he does when he breathes a sigh and rubs his cheek across Harry’s still-bare pec. 

“You can trust me,” he says, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Louis’ head to keep him there. 

Without pulling away he tilts upward until Harry can see his face, then leans up on his tip-toes to press their lips together. They both melt into it and Harry’s hit once again by how right it feels, holding Louis’ lips to his own. 

It doesn’t escalate from there. He pecks Louis’ mouth a few more times before they part and Louis returns to his regular height. 

“I do,” he smiles, pressing his lips to the skin on Harry’s chest just as the timer goes off. 

+

“So I’ve been thinking,” Louis starts. 

Harry glances up at him from the other end of the living room, an amused smirk on his lips. “Yes?” 

“Well, y’know how, like, we’ve been,” he gestures between them loosely, turning more red by the minute. 

“How we’ve been…” 

“Doing _stuff_ ,” Louis whispers. 

Laughing, Harry pushes off of the chair and moves to sit next to him on the sofa, throwing an arm around his shoulders. 

“Ah, yes. _Stuff_ ,” he grins. 

Louis punches him in the arm. He turns to curl away from Harry and shift further down the couch but he isn’t quick enough. Harry’s got his hands around his waist before he can move an inch. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he soothes. “What were you thinking, sweetheart?” 

He stops fighting at the nickname. Harry’s begun to use that to his advantage recently, letting it slip into their everyday conversation instead of just when they’re doing, as Louis called it, stuff. Though he finds his innocence incredibly endearing, he’s very much interested in what he was about to say. 

“I just - I trust you, y’know? And I was just thinking that maybe, one day like, in the future, we could, uhm. Like, maybe you would -?” 

“Louis?” He murmurs carefully, “Are you asking me to take your virginity?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, relaxing like a weight’s been lifted off of his shoulders. “Not now, like, but - in the future.” 

“Yeah? You want it to be me?” 

This is a thread Harry knows he shouldn’t be pulling at. But he feels so lucky to be asked, like he’s found this hidden gem and he’s the only one Louis trusts enough with it. He’s smiling and trying to keep things light but his brain is running faster than he can keep up with all of the possible scenarios. 

“You’re the only one I want to have me that way,” Louis whispers. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks again, “Gonna let me pop your cherry?” 

He braces for Louis’ laugh at his joke but it never comes. Then he’s afraid he might’ve offended him, his smaller body suddenly rigid in Harry’s arms. But when he glances down, it’s something else altogether. 

Louis’ eyes are tightly shut, forehead creasing with lines his lips rolled together to keep any noise inside. When he shifts against Harry’s thigh, he’s hard. 

And - oh. He likes it, then. If he’s managed to find someone that not only puts up with his awkward, poorly-timed humor but actually gets off on it, Harry’s never letting him go. He decides to test the waters some more. 

“You like that, sweetheart?” He coos, “Want me to take your v-card, hmm? Properly _deflower_ you,” Harry continues in his ear. 

“Harry,” Louis gasps, fingers digging into the skin of his arm, then whimpers in response. 

It’s lucky that Louis decides to kiss him then because Harry can’t think of any more slang terminology for ‘virginity’ off the top of his head. He licks over Louis’ lips to distract them both. He’s better at this part, anyway. 

And he proves it, backing Louis up until he’s trapped between Harry and the sofa, until he tumbles backwards with a squeal and Harry follows him down. He gets a leg between Louis’ smaller ones and spreads him wide open, nestling his own tented trousers over Louis’. 

Instantly Louis is bucking upwards, searching for friction. His smaller hands run up Harry’s arms, his nails dragging over skin every few seconds. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly for his eagerness, looking scared of himself but too turned on to care all that much. 

“S’alright,” Harry grins, lips tracing over his collarbone, “Wanna get you off, yeah? Haven’t been able to yet.” 

Over the last couple of weeks he’s been wanting to practice on Harry but he hasn’t let him return the favor. Harry’s been dying to get his hands on him since even before they kissed for the first time. 

“Might - might not last very long,” Louis pants. 

Yeah, Harry thought he might not. After so many years with only his hand, he imagines this feels like heaven. He pulls Louis’ thigh up higher on his hip so they’re grinding properly, filthy drags of his hips that have Louis choking on his noises, his head thrown backward on the couch. His hips start up again, almost instinctively as they rotate with inexperienced rhythm. Harry reaches a hand around to grab at his arse to help him out. 

“Ah,” Louis whines, tendons tensing underneath Harry’s tongue. 

His entire body feels hot to the touch, electric while he writhes, so desperate. 

“You know it’s going to be me,” Harry growls, tugging at his earlobe with his teeth. “M’gonna be the first one to have you like that, all gorgeous and desperate for me, split open for my cock.” 

“Harry,” Louis chokes again. 

“Say it.” 

Blue eyes flicker open to meet his own, their hips still locked in an unrelenting up-and-down, back-and-forth. Already Louis seems fucked out, pupils blown wide, staring at Harry’s mouth like he isn’t quite sure what he’s just been asked to do. Sweat drips down from his own forehead to Louis’. 

“Wha-”

“Say it, Louis,” Harry groans. 

“You’re - you’ll be my first,” he gasps, crying out when Harry rubs down on him directly. “My only,” he finishes, quieter despite his heavy breathing. 

The goal had been to get Louis off but Harry can’t deny the effects of their dirty talk on his own body. He freezes above him at his words, then frantically reaches a hand down to grab at both of them at once and get them off. Louis probably just meant the only he’s ever had, but it sets Harry off either way. 

_Louis’ first. Louis’ only. Louis’ first. Louis’ only._

Harry catches sight of his face just as Louis comes, arching up into him in a mindless search for balance. Sliding his other hand underneath the curve of his back, Harry gives it to him. He doesn’t stop until Louis is flinching, sensitive, and then focuses on himself. 

The hand inside of his pants flies blurrily between them, Harry’s brows furrowed as he stares down at Louis. He wants to ask him to say it again but he keeps his mouth shut. He isn’t sure anything would even come out of his mouth if he tried right now. 

It doesn’t matter in the end anyway, because Louis bites his own bottom lip, the flesh stained white where it’s caught between his teeth, and Harry comes. 

Which - it usually takes him much longer than that, if he’s being honest. Even with the people he brings home it takes a while, heavy buildup and occasionally the thick haze of alcohol to be able to get there quickly. Though Louis still came before him, Harry still feels like they’ve shared the moment. He isn’t stuck running behind anymore, trying to catch up. 

“Good?” He asks Louis afterward, thumbing absently at the lovebite blooming under his chin. 

“Great, perfect,” Louis sighs. 

“Good,” Harry grins, bumping their noses together. “Sorry if I got a bit carried away.” 

“No, that was - wanted it. Promise.” 

They’ve got somewhat of a routine now though it’s only happened a few times, and Louis knows his way around the bathroom when they get there. Harry wets a towel Louis hands him so he can wipe them off, then he puts it in the laundry while Harry peels back the sheets for them. 

“Harry?” He asks quietly. 

“Yeah, doll,” Harry murmurs, sliding the hair off of his forehead. 

“I - I meant what I said earlier, if you want to.” 

“Of course I will, Louis. Whenever you’re ready you let me know, m’kay?” Harry tugs him closer and throws a leg over his, shifting on the sheets. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart,” he repeats, kissing his cheek. 

It feels a lot like a relationship but Harry’s too nervous to say anything about it. At the same time, though, he doesn’t really want to risk Louis finding someone else he thinks could do it better. It’s all he thinks about until he manages to fall asleep, his hand finally stilling in Louis’ feather-soft hair. He’ll deal with it some other time. 

+

Over the last few weeks since Louis brought it up, Harry’s managed to further convince the both of them that he’s going to be Louis’ first. He slips subtle hints into everyday conversation, steers their discussions toward that territory when he thinks he can get away with it. And he thinks Louis notices but he isn’t sure. Everyday he gets more willing to push just a bit harder. 

He’d thought it’d been a sure thing before, too, but after the whole Tom situation he feels like he needs to stake his claim a bit more obviously. 

“Hypothetically,” Harry drawls after a long silence, “when I take your virginity-” 

Louis chokes on his tea next to him on the sofa. He spits some of it back into the cup and onto his shirt in his panic, cursing as he tries to clean it up. Perhaps he hadn’t been as subtle as he was hoping for. 

“Fuck, Harry,” he mutters, voice high. 

Smiling, Harry continues. 

“What sorts of things would you want?” He asks, “Hypothetically, of course.” 

Despite his annoyance at choking, he can tell Louis seems curious, a small frown on his lips. Harry watches him refold the blanket draped over his legs until it covers both of them. 

“What do you mean?” He questions quietly. 

Harry shifts so that his head is in Louis’ lap and looks up at him. 

“Like, what do you like? I mean, I’m going to spoil you a bit, probably take you to dinner first, set out some candles, but that’s not what I’m asking. I know you haven’t been with anyone but surely you have some - interests, yeah?” 

This time he gets to see color fill Louis’ cheeks from a new angle, smirking at the bottom of his chin as it radiates down his neck. He draws a dainty wrist into his own hair and waits for Louis to massage his scalp, closing his eyes so he won’t feel rushed or too vulnerable. 

“I - just normal stuff, I guess,” he shrugs. 

Raising a brow, Harry cracks open one eye to look at him disbelievingly. There’s got to be _something_ , some reason Louis hasn’t let anyone in yet. Some kink or fetish he’s convinced he’s never going to be able to try. 

If Harry’s going to take his virginity - _hypothetically_ \- he’s going to make it exceptionally good. Step one of that is to draw out all of his interests and file them away for when he can put them to use. He’s going to use each and every bit of information he gets to make Louis a writhing, desperate mess and he’s going to enjoy every last second of it. 

Unless Louis keeps lying. 

“You don’t have one kink,” he asks flatly. 

“Guess I’m fairly vanilla,” Louis says. 

And Harry may have believed him if he wasn’t so nervous. He’s even more red now when Harry sits up to get a better look, picking at the hem of his shirt and fidgeting under the attention. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

In under a minute, Harry’s got him rolled to the ground in front of the sofa, poking him in the sides until he’s giggling, begging him to stop. 

“Tell me what it is,” he demands, pausing so Louis can speak. 

“No,” Louis gasps happily, thrashing. 

“Ah, so there _is_ something you aren’t telling me,” Harry yells, diving back in to tickle him again. 

His full weight is on Louis’ lower body, sitting on him so that he couldn’t get away if he tried. It isn’t difficult to fight off his blocks, shoving his arms out of the way to run gentle fingers up his sides. 

It is annoying, though. Louis won’t stop trying to push him off so Harry grabs his wrists, manhandles him down into submission with his hands above his head on the carpet until he falls lax. 

Louis moans. 

Quiet enough that Harry would have missed it if he hadn’t been listening so intently, a breathy little whine that sends shockwaves through him upon hearing it. Louis freezes underneath him, eyes gone wide. 

When Harry tightens his grip experimentally, Louis’ hips buck upwards. 

Bingo. 

“This it, then?” Harry asks, “You like being held down?” 

Whimpering, Louis tries to roll away. He stills again as soon as Harry pushes down with a swift roll of his hips. Louis never responds. 

Harry leans down into his space until he’s breathing hotly into his ear. 

“Or maybe you like giving me control. Is that it?” 

It’s selfish of him to refer to himself like that, like he’s somehow linked to the things Louis gets off on. It doesn’t stop him. 

“You know I can give you that, sweetheart, don’t you? We’re just playing around and already I’ve got you all worked up.” 

“Harry,” he says shakily, his wrists twisting in his firm hold. 

“Do you want to know what I’d do to you?” 

Louis nods barely, embarrassed but undeniably turned on still. Every few seconds Harry grinds down to give him some much appreciated friction. 

“Maybe I’ll hold you just like this when I take you for the first time. Can keep both of your wrists in one hand, can’t I? Just the perfect size.” 

He proves it to him, shifting both of Louis’ hands in only one of his own. It’s an image he’s definitely going to keep for later. Their size difference isn’t all that noticeable in public but here, it’s all Harry can focus on. His waist, his legs, his entire frame is tiny. He wonders what other parts of him are small. 

“I’d stretch you open with the other one,” he reaches down to palm Louis arse, “get you ready for me. Maybe I’d make you come once with my fingers before I do it with my cock.” 

“Oh,” Louis chokes, head tossing to the side. Harry kisses him on the newly exposed skin, sweetly in contrast to his filthy words. 

“I’d be gentle with you - like you deserve. But I’d also give you what you need, leave marks for you to look at the next day, an ache between your legs that reminds you of _exactly_ who put it there.” 

The inside of his brain is blinking bright lights, moving too slow to catch up with his mouth. He’s talking possessively again but Louis doesn’t seem to care, shamelessly trying to rut up while Harry keeps him firm to the floor. 

“Keep - keep going,” he breathes. 

“Oh, you know I’m not finished yet, sweetheart,” Harry coos, laving at his ear, “I would kiss you until you were real relaxed for me, ‘til you can’t remember anything but my name.” 

“Harry,” Louis moans openly now. 

“Yeah, just like that, doll. I’d make you scream it so much you wouldn’t be able to speak the next day. Make you say it over and over and over…” he trails off, lips pressing to anywhere he can reach. 

Louis’ chest falls up and down rapidly, breathing going ragged. His eyes flutter open and shut and Harry thinks he’s probably picturing the scene in his head. Harry would be doing that too, if he could take his eyes off of him right now. 

“It wouldn’t take long to get you ready but I would draw it out. Get my lips on every inch of your tight little body,” he growls. “I’d make it so good that you won’t ever want anyone else. You’ll have to keep coming back to me to get it - knowing I’m the only one that can make you feel that good and I haven’t even been _inside_ of you yet.” 

The hypothetical version of himself and the one here in the moment are beginning to blur together. All of his wants are spilling out like secrets over his tongue, dissolving into Louis’ as he mouths at him. He kisses Louis’ eyelids, his eyebrows, the corners of his lips, slowing down to get him to focus. 

“I would make you look at me before. Make you tell me that you’re sure, that you still want it to be me.” 

Louis looks up at him directly, meeting his gaze properly for the first time the whole afternoon. For a second Harry thinks he might say something, reassure Harry that it’ll be him. His mouth is open the slightest bit but Harry knows he’s holding his breath. He leans down until his lips are brushing Louis’ when he speaks. 

“Then I would take you for the first time.” 

They both knew that was where this was going, but it doesn’t stop Louis’ hips from jutting up again. He uses all of his strength to strain against Harry’s body, pushing up once, twice, and then he comes. 

Harry’s own mouth drops open. They hadn’t even - he hadn’t even touched Louis. Just random swivels of his hips and his mouth at his ear. And yet he’s shaking with it, jerky and over sensitive with Harry still on top of him. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he breathes, slightly in awe, taking in Louis’ blissful face. 

He cradles his body through the intervals of his release. Strokes a hand through his hair to calm him further. He’s still worked up, tears gathered on his dark lashes when he blinks. 

“Harry,” he says one last time, tender and lovely and sticking to the inside of Harry’s ears like thick molasses. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “M’here.” 

Reduced to a much thinner vocabulary, Louis can only mewl up at him as he seeks comfort in his arms. Harry gives it willingly, ignoring the persistent pulse of his own cock tucked into his jeans. If he’s like this after being talked off, Harry can’t wait to see what he’s like after he’s been thoroughly fucked. 

It takes more effort to get them back onto the couch than it did to leave it, making sure he doesn’t drop Louis in the process. He lays them facing each other, an arm securely wrapped around his waist to draw him in close. The folded blanket is still resting on the arm and Harry drapes it over both of them. He presses a kiss to his forehead before he can think better of it. 

Hypothetically, of course, he’d really like to take Louis’ virginity. He thinks Louis seems quite keen on it, too. 

+

As much as he likes to daydream about taking Louis to bed, most of Harry’s fantasies don’t even have anything to do with that. He thinks about what it’d be like to hold Louis’ hand, to see the looks on their friends faces when they make it official. 

It’s all very out of character because usually he’s known as the casanova of the group. He’s been around more than a few times, dated a handful of them as well, but nothing ever seemed to stick. Harry never envisioned lazy Sundays with them or thought about what their hypothetical children might look like. 

So he’s sufficiently freaked out when he begins thinking those things about Louis. Not enough to really affect anything, because he’s too attached now to try and run away, but enough to send his heart racing at the simplest gestures. 

He loses breath when Louis cuddles up next to him on the couch. Can’t feel his hands when Louis pulls them into his hair to massage his scalp when they’re laying together. Thinks his mouth may get permanently stuck in a smile if he grins anymore. All in all, very troubling side effects. 

Louis seems perfectly oblivious as always. Despite being sweet when he wants to be, he’s got this air of confidence that Harry gets drunk on sometimes. He’s so sure of himself and what he wants - even if he’s afraid to ask for it - that it’s endearing. Harry wishes he had it together that much. 

At least he’s better than he used to be, he tells himself. And he is, is the thing. Hanging out with Louis doesn’t feel like a chore, like it did when they all used to go out together. Now he gets to have the best parts of that to himself without any of the bad. 

Getting up and going to work doesn’t seem as awful because, usually, Louis’ back at his flat right afterwards to help him make dinner. All of the mundane things that used to grate on his nerves seem just the slightest bit easier. 

Which sounds incredibly insane - Harry’s aware. Aware of both his naivety and stupidity, how quickly he’d caught feelings he’d sworn off long ago and how long he’d missed Louis being right in front of him. Harry justifies his emotions with the fact that he has known Louis for a long time, just not as intimately. Maybe they’d even developed before he truly knew what they were. 

He’s the farthest thing from a hopeless romantic, but with Louis he can’t seem to help it. He wants to give him everything he wants. Dates, kisses, anything else he manages to think up. 

And then, on top of that, he wants to give him the best first time ever. Harry’s already got a mental picture of roses and wine, of silk sheets and candles. Because if there’s anyone that deserves perfection, it’s Louis. 

It’d taken him too long to realize it but now that he has, he feels like he has to work doubly hard to make it up to him. Though Louis seems to be content with just about anything, if he’s honest. He practically purrs under his attention no matter how much or little he receives. 

It’s not like their schedules are the most exciting, likely not even close. They both go to work and come home and they have chores and bills and everything else that comes with being an adult, but Harry wakes up each morning with a smile on his face, which is more than he could ever say for his younger self. 

When he glances over at Louis across from him, he doesn’t feel like a kid anymore. He feels _accomplished_. Like he’s managed to find this one great thing mixed in with all of the other mediocre, hidden right in front of his eyes the entire time. He feels like he’s finally got everything he’d been looking for before, searching and searching with no hope - until now. 

He just isn’t actually _his_ yet. 

+

The first step is ordering the roses. 

Harry has to go downtown to the more expensive florist to get the ones without thorns so he doesn’t cause any unnecessary injuries for them later on, and the bill ends up being a bit more than he’d wanted to spend. He’d just gotten a bonus from his work, though, so he shrugs and tosses the receipt in the bin on the way out without thinking twice. 

He stops for wine next, grabbing a few different bottles since Louis doesn’t even really drink all that much wine. It’s the thought that counts, he figures. Those go in the wine cooler near his pantry, hidden away until he needs them. 

The last thing on his list is to clean the house and put his softest sheets on the bed. He’d placed an express order for the flowers to pick up later on, so he’s on a bit of a tight schedule. Harry’s hands shake when he grabs the duvet out of the linen closet. 

Louis’ at his own house for now but he’ll be over later tonight. Harry’s taking him out to the fanciest place he could get last minute reservations at, some five-star rated steakhouse on the other side of town. And then, finally, back to Harry’s for dessert. 

This morning had been quite the surprise for them both. It’s been a few months now of their arrangement, of what Harry refers to as their _relationship_ , and Louis sleeps over at his nearly every night. Harry’d woken up with a mouthful of his hair and bleary eyes, their legs tangled together so much that he struggled to make out where their bodies ended and began. 

Louis had already been awake. He’d smiled softly at Harry when he blinked his eyes open, kissing him gently on the lips before he truly realized what was happening. 

“What was tha’ for?” Harry’d muttered, already leaning in for another. 

Despite seeing each other so frequently, they’ve yet to venture any further sexually. Harry can't say he’s minded all that much, not when he’s learned to enjoy the smaller things like the way it feels to hug him close every night or the way Harry’s body wash lingers on his skin until the day after his showers. 

Also, though, he’s pretty sure Louis’ getting tired of Harry waking up fully hard in his boxers every morning, so. 

“I think I want to,” he’d whispered against Harry’s lips, “tonight.” 

In his sleep-haze, it’d taken a few seconds for it to really sink in, but he remembers jumping into action. Harry’d thrown off all the covers and promptly kicked him out of the flat, already ticking things off of his mental list that needed to be done. 

Though he’d laughed giddily and followed orders, Louis still caught him before he left, both hands reaching up to frame his face. 

“Please don’t worry too much about everything else,” he’d said. “I want this because it’s _you_ , not because of the other stuff.” 

He’d kissed Harry once more square on the lips, then left with the promise of seeing him later on for dinner. 

And Harry knows he’s telling the truth, that it would be perfectly fine if he just took Louis on his bed without anything special, but he wants him to remember. Even if he and Louis don’t end up together in the future, this way he’ll still have a good memory of his first time. Harry owes him that at the very least. 

Harry’s first time hadn’t been that amazing. He remembers hazy details of it in quick snippets, surrounded by teenagers too young to be drinking so much and too high to be worried about it, someone taking his hand to lead him upstairs while they stumbled. For years he wished he would’ve waited so he could’ve remembered who it was, how it happened, how he felt, but he’s made his peace with it now for the most part. On the bright side, he figures, it gives him some good insight on how to make sure it’s good for someone else. He just won’t do any of the things he’d done all those years ago and he should be fine. 

Somehow that doesn’t stop his hands from trembling while he makes the bed. It doesn’t keep his mind running with negative possibilities and everything that could go wrong. He double-checks his bedside drawer for lube and condoms four times within minutes. 

His watch says four-thirty when he checks it, so he finishes smoothing out the duvet and heads back downstairs to pick up the roses at five. Their reservations are for seven which means he’s got to pick Louis up ideally by six thirty to get to the restaurant in time, six if he wants to beat traffic. 

Harry’s knuckles are white by the time he pulls in to the florist, accidentally slamming the door a bit too hard as he gets out. The bell tinkles when he walks in, the same woman from this morning glancing up worriedly. 

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my order,” Harry tells her. 

She hesitates, “We have half of the red roses you ordered, but we didn’t have the full amount you asked for.” 

Breathing in through his nose, Harry forces a smile. “That’s - that’s alright.” 

“Well, I’ve replaced the other half with white roses. I’m so sorry about the inconvenience, but here’s the booklet you chose from earlier. You can see what they symbolize as well if you’d like,” she hands him the chart he remembers picking the red roses from while she heads to get his order from the back. 

Disappointed, Harry stuffs the booklet in his back pocket and sighs. He supposes not _everything_ can go his way. 

He just doesn’t understand why he’s so nervous. For years he made no big deal about taking people back to his flat, no second thought about romantic gestures or grand declarations of feelings. 

But he supposes that this is another sign of maturity, maybe. Maybe he’s outgrown his old habits. Recently he’s been craving intimacy, closeness that he wouldn’t be able to get from someone he picked up at the bar. Regardless, Louis won’t care what color the flowers are. He cares about Harry, hopefully in the same way Harry cares about him in return. 

“Here you are,” she returns, several large bouquets of red and white roses in her arms, “I’m very sorry, again.” 

“Thank you. It’s no problem,” Harry tells her, genuinely this time, taking them off of her hands. 

Ignoring the looks he receives on his way back outside, he buckles them up gently beside him and heads home to get ready. 

It’s just as difficult to get them up to his flat, pressing the button for the lift with his elbow and fumbling to hold his keys steady to unlock the door. He manages eventually, rushing to his bedroom without seeing where he’s going. 

Though they aren’t silk, the soft linen sheets look just how he’d imagined when he begins to sprinkle petals over them, a grin lingering on his lips. He alternates white then red, adjusting the individual petals that seem out of place. He leaves one rose set out to the side to give to Louis tonight. When he’s finished, Harry stands back with his hands on his hips to admire his work. 

He can picture it vividly later tonight with the lights low, Louis laid delicately in the middle. Harry can picture his tan skin next to the color of the flowers, can envision them giggling when the petals cling to their bodies. 

Shaking off the vision, Harry strips his clothes off on the floor of the laundry room and crosses the hall to shower. He’s had his outfit set out since this morning, so he doesn’t worry much about that. 

Thoroughly, he takes his time washing himself with the scents that he knows Louis likes, ignoring his budding erection when he thinks about what he’d be doing if Louis were already over here. He cuts that train of thought off immediately - Harry refuses to ruin this night before it even begins. 

Styling his hair takes a good fifteen minutes paired with his other routines, a mix of creams and other products he saves for special occasions. He shaves a bit of his stubble around his mouth and then moisturizes there, too. By the end of it, Harry feels like he looks much better than when he’d stepped in. 

He dresses himself in the button up, suit jacket, and his nice trousers, and slips on his dress shoes at the back of his closet. Huffing, Harry fights his own nervous habit to run a hand through his newly-styled hair and stuffs it in his pocket instead. 

The booklet from the florist sits poking out from his pant pocket on the ground when Harry passes by them in the laundry room on his way to the door, the bright yellow catching his eye. He’s got a few minutes to spare, he thinks. He picks it up and flips the first page open to scan for red and white. 

Red is one he’d already known. It signifies love and passion. There’d been a reason he’d chosen it immediately, without looking at any of the other colors first. Harry’s eyes fall beneath it to white roses. 

They symbolize purity and innocence. Lips curving up on one side, Harry thinks of Louis and figures it’d been okay that he’d gotten those, too. He flips over one more page to the pairs to check what they mean together. 

Beside the two colors is only one word - _unity_. 

His breath catches a bit at that. Somehow, accidentally, he’d managed to end up with exactly what he wanted to convey. He takes it as a sign, some of the tension from earlier falling off of his shoulders. 

Setting the booklet on top of the machine so he’ll see it later, he pulls out his phone to tell Louis he’s on his way. The single rose he’d grabbed from the stack earlier feels heavier in his hands when he clutches it to his chest, stopping in front of the mirror in his entryway before he leaves. 

Harry analyzes himself in the reflection. He raises his chin and squares his shoulders, the red rose looking awfully distinguished in front of his suit. He looks _dashing_ , he thinks. Deserving of Louis. 

With a smile, Harry grabs his keys from the bowl and locks the door behind him, heading to the car to pick him up. He’s nervous and he’s still got too much of a pep in his step when he walks, but he’s much too excited to care. 

+

Louis answers the door before he’s even finished knocking. Harry feels like a freak standing there, a few of Louis’ neighbors passing through the hall and giving his formal attire curious glances. 

“Hey,” he breathes, catching Harry’s attention once again. 

“Hey,” Harry grins. “For you,” he hands him the rose. 

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” he blushes. 

Harry gets a kick of adrenaline like he’s on a first date, and he supposes he sort of is. He’s never taken anyone out like this before, not even when he’d taken a girl to a dance when he was fifteen. He laughs happily, nervously, glancing at Louis again while he places the rose in a vase and returns to the door. 

“You look lovely,” Harry tells him. 

And he does - more dressed up than Harry’s ever seen him. It’s obvious the effort he put in, his hair swirled up perfectly and his outfit subtly complimenting his body. But Louis always looks lovely, he thinks. 

“Thank you,” he says again, quietly. “Are you - are we ready to go?” 

Offering a hand in response, he squeezes Louis’ fingers in the time it takes him to lock his own door, leading him to the car where he also opens the door, then again when they get to the restaurant. Louis rolls his eyes each time, but Harry ignores it paired with his red cheeks and quiet thank you’s. 

Dinner is lovely but Harry has trouble focusing. They get a circle booth so that he can touch him, wrap an arm around his shoulders. After how much they see each other normally, it feels like they haven’t touched in ages. It feels wonderful just to be near him again. 

It feels so good that everything he’s been wanting to ask rests on the tip of his tongue, threatening to slip out without his permission. In the end, he doesn’t bring it up. Just because he wants Louis to be his boyfriend doesn’t mean Louis wants the same thing, and Harry doesn’t think he could bare the rejection after all of his work today for tonight. 

He queues it for another time, nosing at Louis’ neck until he giggles, swatting at his arm until he backs away. Harry kisses him there once before he relents. The longer they sit there the more confident he feels, the more he begins to think _okay, I can do this_. 

Then Louis’ taking his hand under the table and telling him to ask for the check and all of that goes out the window. 

The sharp edge of fear he’d felt earlier burns him again, his grip faltering on Louis’ shoulders when he raises a hand for the waiter. If Louis notices, he doesn’t say anything. In fact, he’s silent all the way back to the car, all the way until they arrive back at Harry’s flat even though his hand had been encased in Harry’s sweaty one the entire drive home. 

His lack of conversation sends him spiraling again. Harry’s desperate to know what he’s thinking but he holds his tongue. He can do this. 

With a hand on his back in the lift, he doesn’t let go when he unlocks his door again, when they’re finally back inside. Louis’ looking at him when he turns to face him, the sound of his keys hitting the ceramic bowl echoing loudly in between them so much that Harry flinches. 

“Harry,” he says, holding out a hand. 

Confused, he steps forward and accepts Louis’ offer, falling into him easily when he reaches up for a familiar hug. 

“S’okay, yeah?” Louis reminds him, pecking him twice on his chin. “It’s just us.” 

Clearing his throat, Harry tries to steer the attention away from himself. This isn’t about him. Louis blinks up at him with a sweet expression on his face, open and vulnerable in a way Harry wishes he could be. 

“Gonna let me be your first?” Harry asks him, cradling his face in his hands and trying to keep his voice even. 

“Yeah, Harry. Please,” Louis sighs. 

“No going back from here,” he warns, “You sure you want it to be me?” 

Harry feels like he should stop talking. He’s not very good at it, never able to just say what he means, but Louis has always been able to read between his lines. It’s just - he has to know. He has to get his insecurities out before Louis points them out for him. 

“Harry,” he hums, catching the crack in his tone, “why are you so convinced that I wouldn’t want it to be you?” 

“M’not, really. Just want to make sure that you - that you don’t regret anything. You deserve to get it right, Louis.” 

Smiling to himself, Louis stands on his tiptoes until he can reach Harry’s lips, molding their mouths together. And it’s great, always is, but right now Harry really needs to hear him say it. Needs to hear - 

“I am.” 

_That_. 

“I trust you, Harry. I already told you I wouldn’t want anyone else to have me like that,” Louis finishes, suckling on his collarbone after he retreats to his normal height again. “This is me getting it right.” 

He’s gone shy again with a pretty pink blush staining his cheeks. He and Harry are both a total mess, seeking reassurance and giving out too much at once, Harry panicking like he’s a virgin as well. He inhales deeply and pushes the other thoughts from his brain. 

“Like we talked about?” Harry gulps. 

Louis nods eagerly against his chest, glancing up to meet his eyes. Harry walks him backwards down the hallway until they’re at the door to his bedroom, then spins him around to stand in the doorway. 

“Close your eyes for me?” He asks, leaving him to stand there while he flips on the lamps and makes sure everything is still set up correctly. 

He stares at Louis at the door with his eyes shut like Harry asked him, his breathing normal and slow and sure. Harry tries to match it subconsciously. Slowly, he relaxes, overcome with the reality of the situation. 

“You can open them,” he whispers. 

Louis’ eyes flutter open a second afterward, his mouth opening slightly in a bright smile as he looks around the room. The champagne is on the nightstand, the lamps illuminating the roses he’d set out earlier. Everything down to the temperature in the room has been set specifically for him, and he seems to realize it. 

“I - Harry,” he laughs, lip wobbling. 

Swallowing his own nerves, Harry approaches him again for a tight embrace. It’s nice, for once, to see him so speechless. 

“Do you like it?” Harry asks, unable to help himself. 

“I love it, Harry,” Louis corrects. “It’s amazing. But - this is about us, yeah? Not just me,” he kisses Harry’s hand near his mouth. “Want you to want this, too.” 

“Louis, I - you have no idea.” 

For the first time all night he presses their lips together, cradling the back of Louis’ head to keep their mouths together. He tastes like pasta and a bit of the sweet wine they had at dinner, his tongue poking out from between his eager lips. 

Harry wants to take this slow but he figures they _have_ waited for this for a while, slipping his jacket off of his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. Small fingers reach up to his collar before they set to work undoing his buttons without parting their mouths. 

He pauses when he’s undressed from the waist up, his fingers at the hem of Louis’ dress shirt. Pulling away and sucking in a large breath, Louis nods once at him and lifts his arms so Harry can get it off. 

It’s then that he’s able to see some of Louis’ insecurities in return, his hands crossing instinctively over his stomach once it’s exposed. He flushes and keeps his gaze on Harry’s shirt discarded below them. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry tells him, reaching forward to gently remove his hands. 

He kisses Louis’ forehead and his hair on the top of his head, comforting him until his arms return to his sides. Then he takes his hand, links their fingers together, and draws him toward the bed. 

His chest rises up and down quickly when Harry peels back the linen, the sheet underneath cool enough to make Louis shiver when he sits back on it. 

“Will you lay back for me?” 

Careful to keep his tone soft and accommodating, he kisses Louis’ shoulder and his cheek as he reclines until his head is on the pillow. Slipping his shoes off, Harry unlaces Louis’ as well and slides them off of his feet before he climbs over his body, laying propped on his elbow next to him. 

“Just wanna kiss you for a bit, yeah?” 

Louis seems the slightest bit relieved as he nods, his arms still clinging to the sides of his stomach. This had been part of the plan, anyway. Though he can’t remember much of his own first time, Harry remembers the build up. He remembers wondering about when it would happen, what he would do in the moment. He remembers being nervous about it, researching endlessly on the private browser on his phone so he wouldn’t be unprepared. For him, it hadn’t mattered. For Louis, he’s so grateful he had. 

He molds his mouth to Louis’ slowly, passionately, his lips almost aching with the intensity. He’s tense underneath Harry though, stiff when he tries to get a hand on his waist. He retreats instead, holding his cheek while he licks into his mouth. 

After a few minutes Harry tries again, fingers searching for Louis’ own to link them together. Once they’re holding hands, he strokes a light thumb over the back of it to calm him. He shifts, arm moving to support Louis’ head so they’re even closer. 

In past relationships, Harry’s forgotten how much he enjoys kissing. Not the regular pecks, but more like this. The thick, heavy, spit-soaked kisses that leave him heaving. The upside to being Louis’ first kiss as well, he figures, is that Louis’ an expert at it already. 

And it seems to be doing a sufficient job at keeping him distracted, his little moans caught between their mouths as his other arm falls limp to his side, no longer clutching his skin protectively. Harry smiles into him. 

“Gonna touch you now, okay?” He murmurs, looking him in the eye. 

He nods again, this time much less anxious, and gives him a hesitant smile in return. They both track the movement when Harry’s hand drops to his collarbones, ghosting light touches over his upper chest before moving lower. He circles Louis’ nipples teasingly without touching them. 

It elicits the exact response he’d been hoping for, Louis pushing his chest out impatiently after a minute. Harry wants to see him want it first. At his soft whine, he can’t resist. 

Harry runs a fingertip over one of his nipples, his breath catching when Louis gasps. He pinches it to see his reaction, Louis mewling and turning into him further. Harry tightens his grip on his shoulders and kisses the tip of his ear. 

So often he would forgo this with other partners. There was always this explicit finish line that he would race to, in it for his pleasure and little else. Tonight, he thinks he’d like to see Louis come for him before anything else. 

Each of his noises is prettier than the last, growing more desperate by the second. Harry flicks his nipple and swallows down his groan as his throat extends and his head tosses backward. 

“Harry - H, touch me. Touch me, please,” he cries. 

“Sh,” Harry placates, stroking the hair back from his forehead where it’d fallen, “I’ve got you, doll.” 

Louis preens in response, grabbing one of Harry’s wrists to place it over the zip of his trousers. Harry takes his lips again to keep him in the moment, lowering the zipper before shifting to hover above him. Louis’ hips lift off of the bed as he begins to push them down his thighs. 

He leaves his boxers on for now. Despite all they’ve done together, he hasn’t ever seen Louis fully nude. It feels a bit like he’s opening a gift and he wants to take his time, to not waste any single part of this or take it for granted. 

Similar to the first time he’d let Louis touch him, he palms at him through his underwear, just lightly at first. Louis is still wonderfully sensitive having never been touched so intimately, crying out at the pressure. 

“Ah, ah,” he pants, hips jerking helplessly up into his touch. 

“Sound so beautiful, doll,” Harry praises. 

Harry nudges his thighs apart and rubs down harder, lingering on the prominent wet spot near his tip. He can see how good it must feel, Louis’ forehead creased and his brows furrowed while he fights for breath. Harry knows he’s worked up because he’s never felt this before, but in his head he likes to think it’s also just because it’s him in general. 

Switching his grip, Harry jerks the head of his cock through his boxers with only his thumb and forefinger, flying so fast over him that he sobs dryly and writhes on the sheets. 

“Want you to come for me,” he whispers. 

“But - I -” Louis pouts, probably trying to hold out for Harry. Harry knows him by now though, and he won’t make it through everything Harry’s got planned for him without a thorough orgasm first. 

“It’ll help you relax, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt you,” he kisses Louis’ nose. “Just come, doll.” 

Not trying to hold it off anymore, Louis quivers as he begins to come, soiling the material of his boxers with his release and some of Harry’s hand. He brings Louis’ hand up to his mouth to kiss it. 

“Can I take these off now, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says shakily, “yeah.” 

“Thank you, doll.” 

Holding his breath, Harry begins to peel down the ruined boxers. Louis’ prick is revealed as he goes, just about the size of Harry’s entire thumb once its no longer obscured by the material. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he curses under his breath, reaching down blindly to cup himself through his trousers so he won’t come. 

Louis whimpers when he realizes Harry’s stopped moving, already curling in on himself again like he’s got anything to be ashamed of. 

“No,” Harry snaps, then softens his tone, “I - you’re perfect, Louis. Everything, you’re so-” 

He surges up to kiss him again, unable to help himself from grinding down on top of him a few times to relieve the pressure. Louis hisses beneath him at the roughness of his trousers. Parting from him, Harry struggles to stay in his space while he maneuvers out of the rest of his clothes, quickly stuffing one of the pillows underneath Louis’ wide hips. 

His cock springs out from them as they slide off of him, and he tracks Louis’ eyes as they fly to it again. He’s seen it before, but now that they know what's going to happen Harry guesses he’s probably nervous about the size. 

“Will it - will you - fit?” Louis gulps, leaning up on his elbows now, his eyebrows raised in concern. 

“You’ll be able to take me,” Harry nods, nosing at his cheek, “Gonna get you nice and open for me, yeah? Like we talked about?” 

“Yeah,” Louis chases his touch, “trust you.” 

Harry smiles, “Good, doll.” 

Reaching over beside them, Harry still feels the pinch of fear that the lube and condoms won’t be there when he pulls open the drawer, but they stare blankly back at him just like they had this morning. He grabs the lube and sets it out next to Louis’ hip, lips pressing a trail down his heaving chest. 

Harry can tell he hasn’t fully recovered just yet, still hypersensitive when Harry mouths at the side of his little prick. It twitches under the soft touch, unused to this kind of attention. He does it once more just for the gasp Louis gives, then parts his legs so he can kneel between them. 

The extra liquid helps as he circles a fingertip around the outside of Louis’ rim, his hands fisting in the duvet. Harry spots the petals inside of his palm and reaches up to uncurl his clenched fist, locking their fingers together again with the hand he isn’t using. 

With the other, he carefully pushes slightly on him until just the tip of his finger is inside. He knows Louis’ fingered himself before because they’d talked about it, but he doesn’t know the specifics. Isn’t sure what he liked about it, how many fingers he used, if he came. He hadn’t seemed all that keen on the details though, so Harry guesses it hadn’t ended well. 

Drawing out of him again, Harry adds more lube for an easier slide. He’s likely to be sore tomorrow no matter what, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to make this as painless for him as possible. 

“Doing so good for me,” Harry kisses his hip as he slides the finger back in more smoothly with the lube. “M’so proud of you.” 

“Harry,” Louis jerks, breath catching then sighing, squeezing his hand. 

He shushes him, working the digit in and out until there’s almost no resistance. Louis opens for him beautifully, slowly stretching right in front of his eyes. Another thing he’d missed out on before - his partners usually took care of this part themselves, too embarrassed to let Harry see them so intimately. 

He’s not exactly sure why, because he’s the slightest bit fascinated. And he’s done this plenty of times before, but he’s struck again by how many firsts he’s experiencing as well. It’s - he’s opening up Louis’ body for him - for his cock. He’s going to be inside of him, right where his finger is right now. 

A mewl draws him back out of his head, his eyes snapping up to Louis shifting around. 

“Alright?” 

“I - more, I think,” Louis fumbles, his request more of a question. 

Pulling out yet again to add more slick, Harry drizzles it generously over two fingers this time, then untangles their hands so he can use one to spread him open further. The first slips back inside easily, but he takes his time easing the second one in beside it. 

Louis can feel the stretch of it then, hissing just as he’s got his middle finger in to his knuckle. He practically already has two digits inside of him with how long his fingers are, but Harry is - well endowed, and the last thing he wants is to hurt him. 

“I’m so lucky,” Harry murmurs. “I’m so lucky to get to have you like this.” 

The finger Louis’d been biting to keep himself quiet falls from his lips, a moan straight behind it. He tries to look down at Harry weakly. 

“S’all yours,” Louis gasps as he spreads his fingers. “I’m all yours.” 

His prick seems interested again, curving up at its base, pointing toward his belly button though it doesn’t reach near that far. Already it’s resumed leaking over his hips, pretty pink and blending perfectly with the rose petals scattered around him. 

Harry pulls out again for more lube. Familiar with it at this point, Louis complains at his emptiness and Harry kisses his thigh in compensation, hurrying to fill him up again. 

Three fingers is painful, he can tell, but after a few minutes Louis seems to adjust like he had with two. Harry works them in and out diligently, massaging him until he’s comfortable with the stretch again. 

When those come out, he hesitates to try for a fourth. His cock is aching where it bobs below him and rubs against the bed, looking big and angry when Harry glances down at it, nothing like Louis’ dainty prick. Harry frowns, lubing up his fingers for a fourth time. 

Startling when he feels all four, Louis leans up to look at him again, his eyes wide. “I don’t think, I mean -” 

“I’m sorry, doll,” Harry apologizes. “The last thing I want is to hurt you.” 

Whimpering unsurely, he lays back again, exhaling while Harry tries to fit them all in. He’d had trouble with three and four looks like it’s nearly impossible, but Harry pushes two inside, then the third, then just a hint of the fourth in spite of his worries. He gets a bit dizzy at the image, at thinking one more and my entire fist would be inside of him. 

Blindly, he takes Louis’ hand again and squeezes hard, pushing his pinky in along with the rest of them. Louis’ body protests but ultimately lets him in, and he exhales gratefully when they’re seated. Just barely he spreads his fingers, fucks them in and out a few times before pulling them out and wiping them on the sheets. 

“M’ready?” Louis murmurs lightly, catching Harry’s eye as he comes to rest above him again. 

“You’re ready for me, doll,” Harry coos. 

He reaches over again to grab a condom, wasting little time in ripping it open and rolling it over his sensitive cock. He can feel Louis’ legs open wider for him and settle around his hips, can feel the slight tremor run through him when Harry’s dick nudges where his fingers just left. 

Slowly, he kisses Louis again and takes his hand resting next to his head on the pillow. With the other he grabs himself, positioning his cock at his entrance. And, yeah, Harry definitely feels like this is _both_ of their first times. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m yours, Harry,” he whispers, a breathless grin on his face despite his trembling. “Take me.” 

Sliding into him isn’t one fluid motion - Harry has to take him inch by slow inch, working himself into him in uncomfortable increments that have Louis’ face twisting up and his grip on Harry tensing and releasing over and over again. Harry has to watch him cry silently while Louis tells him not to stop, has to see him bite his lip to hold in the sobs. For a few awful seconds he thinks there’s no way this is going to work. Louis’ too tight and Harry’s too big and no matter how much they both want this is just isn’t meant to be even as he keeps pushing as gently as he can. 

But - 

But then he’s inside of him. There’s no more to go and Harry’s _inside_ of him and they both exhale at the same time and it’s perfection. Louis smiles again even though he can’t possibly be feeling pleasure yet, the tears leaking from his eyes turning from painful to pleased. 

They’ve done it. Harry’s taken his virginity. 

He laughs happily above him, kissing every inch of his face he can reach. He doesn’t spare a thought for moving yet, only basking in the fact that they’d actually managed to do it and Louis is smiling. Not yelling at him, not regretting anything. 

He’s so caught up in it that he forgets for a moment that they aren’t finished yet. Harry leans forward to kiss him again and their hips move and they both groan, Louis clenching around him. 

At least the brief distraction had calmed him some, and he feels less like he could come any minute. Still, he shudders at the vice-like grip around his dick. 

“Is it - are you hurting?” He struggles to check. 

“A bit, yeah, but - keep going. I’ll get used to it,” Louis grits, clenching and unclenching around him uncontrollably. 

“Let me know if I need to stop,” Harry pauses visibly, making Louis look him in the eye fully before he continues. 

“I will.” 

Glancing down at where they’re connected, Harry pulls out of him a few inches and slides back in. When Louis doesn’t cry he does it again, then again, and again until the minutes blur together and sweet sighs fall from his lips, his head is thrown back like it’d been before. Harry mouths at the underside of his chin. 

“Can’t believe how perfect you are, s’like - like you were made for me,” he grunts. 

And he’s not even trying to talk dirty or fill the silence, actually shocked at how good he feels. It’s never been like this for him before. He’s surprised when hot tears spring to his own eyes, blinking quickly to clear his vision. 

Gently, Harry shifts so he can grab the outside of one of Louis’ thighs and rest it up on his hip, careful not to pull too much on where he’s already been stretched beyond repair. A slight wince is all he gets as a reaction, Louis turning his head to one side to kiss the back of Harry’s hand held tightly on top of his own. 

The angle feels better for them both, he thinks, because this time when he pushes in Louis gasps all high and quiet, his eyelids fluttering where they meet his flushed, freckled cheeks. His other hand flies to Harry’s back to keep him there for a moment. 

Harry likes this, too. He likes taking his time with it instead of rushing toward that end goal, appreciating the smaller details he would've missed otherwise. Every time he moves his hips petals fall haphazardly around his petite frame, entirely covered by Harry’s shadow in the lamplight. 

This is what he imagined his first time like. For once in his life he’s managed to get something right, something exactly like he wanted, even if it didn’t happen at the perfect time. Maybe he was meant to go through everything else, though, so he could appreciate this that much more. Appreciate Louis that much more. 

At some point during his inner monologue, the heat has returned. Harry can feel it burning in his thighs, in the way Louis tries to lift his hips just slightly off of the bedsheets to communicate with him without having to open his mouth. 

So he refocuses and tries not to cry again, tightening his grip on Louis’ hand and fucking in and out of him faster while he fastens their lips together. 

Never with any of his partners has he been able to find the one spot that he’s heard feels amazing, too unfamiliar with their bodies to really know how to go about it. But, just like with anything having to do with Louis, things just seem to fall into place. 

He hits Louis’ prostate when neither of them are expecting it. Louis freezes with a tight scream and Harry freezes as he clenches down exceptionally hard, and for a moment he thinks he’s coming. He isn’t, though, and he strokes up and down Louis’ arm until he calms enough for him to keep moving. 

It takes him too long to realize what’s just happened, but when he does he mirrors his previous trajectory and pistons a bit harder, a bit faster, jolting his body with his thrusts. It’s like a switch has been flipped, Louis suddenly clinging to him like the pain has finally subsided enough to enjoy the pleasure now. 

“Good?” Harry asks, allowing a hint of a smile to cross his lips now that he’s no longer uncomfortable. 

“So - so good,” he nods, fingernails digging into the skin on Harry’s back. “Don’t stop.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll,” he breathes into his ear. 

He couldn’t stop, probably even if he wanted to. Unless Louis asked, of course. But otherwise it feels like there’s something tethering them together and keeping them close that he wouldn’t dream of breaking. It’s his cock, he supposes, but it's more than that, too. 

Harry slows again just as he begins to get worked up, taking his time to feel all of it properly. The smooth inside of Louis’ heat around him threatens to crumble his previously well-regarded stamina with the way it presses against him on all sides, nestled as deep as he can possibly get. 

Although he’s managed to fuck into him at just the right angle, Harry guesses its going to take a little more than that for his first time. Leaning on the elbow that’s holding his hand, he reaches the other down between them to cradle Louis’ prick. 

All night he’s been on the edge of his seat, practically salivating when he’d seen Louis’ nude body laid out for him on his bed. Now he feels closer than ever to the precipice of the night, too overwhelmed to try and hold it back. If this feels as good for Louis as it does for him then he’s sure to have other chances. 

He’s going to take him a million times if he can, all over the flat. On the couch, in his kitchen, a romantic bath. And then he’s going to go over to Louis’ flat and do it all again until he tells him to stop. He’s got time to impress later. 

For now Louis seems close himself, babbling nonsensically in Harry’s ear about how good he feels and how happy he is, Harry’s cock swelling along with his pride. Louis’ smaller dick twitches between his fingers, already mostly wet from how much he’d been leaking throughout the night. A few times Harry’s hand slips off of him and he has to grip harder to keep hold, thumbing quickly over the tip. 

“You gonna come for me again?” Harry asks, frantic once more, “Let me see you, sweetheart.” 

“Harry,” he sobs. 

Hiking Louis’ leg up higher on his hip, Harry shoves inside hard, then stills and rubs fast circles inside of him until he’s shaking. He gives up trying to wrap his hand around Louis’ prick and uses four flat fingers to massage it instead. 

“C’mon, s’alright. You can do it, baby,” he soothes. “Come for me.” 

They’re both choking for breath as the feeling surges over, crashing into Harry as he doubles forward, pumping his hips roughly into him while he fills the condom. It sends Louis into his own release, shivering although he holds Harry’s entire warm weight. 

Harry lifts his head to kiss around his open mouth sloppily, tonguing over his lips and teeth. Below them he can feel himself growing weak as his legs and arms protest the drawn out buildup. 

Regrettably, he kisses Louis one last time just as his prick finishes landing fresh cum on both of their abdomens, before moving to slide out of him. 

“Need you to relax, Louis,” he instructs, “Breathe for me, baby.” 

Whining low in his throat, Harry can tell he tries his best to stay calm while he’s still reeling with the aftershocks. Similar to how he’d tucked himself inside earlier, he pulls out as slow as he can take, monitoring Louis’ face for any more discomfort. 

Taking the condom off and setting it in the bin on shaky legs, Harry steps into the bathroom across the hall to turn on the water for them. He lowers the lights in there as well, then sets out the bubble bath and salts made to help with pain. Several candles illuminate the small space, keeping the atmosphere romantic and soft. 

Louis’ still laying where he left him when he returns to the bedroom. Harry thinks he looks just as beautiful as he had before, skin all marred with bruises now and his hair tousled from the tugging. His eyes are shut, his lips the slightest bit open around small puffs of air. 

They still aren’t done yet. Harry meant it when he’d said everything needed to be perfect. Despite the ache he feels in his own joints, he knows Louis is going to have it much worse. It’s the only thing that keeps him from climbing into bed beside him and falling right to sleep. 

He rounds to his side, dusting a few of the stray petals off of his shoulder to lift him into his arms. Louis’ startles at the movement, having already been close to sleep. He whimpers as Harry shushes him softly. 

The water is halfway full when he re-enters the bathroom, so he reaches over to pour in some of the bubbles and add the salt with the hand that’s hooked underneath Louis’ knees. When the water looks like a speckled mix of baby blues with mountains of tall white bubbles, Harry steps over the edge and sits them both down. 

“You with me, doll?” Harry hums, lifting a loofah to run it over his skin. 

Louis shivers as the droplets roll down his back and into the hot water below, disappearing again. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, clearing his throat lightly while he nuzzles further into Harry’s chest, “m’here.” 

There’s a barely audible moan when Harry moves him so he can wash his hair. Frowning, he uses a rag to wipe the sweat from his neck and his forehead and kisses the wet skin. 

“Are you sore?” 

“Not yet, no. Feel good,” he sighs. 

Just like that, Harry’s eyes go starry again with wetness. He pours some shampoo onto his hand and lets Louis lay back against him so he won’t see his stormy gaze. 

“You were so lovely, Louis,” he says, just quiet enough that he strains to hear it at first. 

Even with his hair all soapy and dripping, he leans up sideways to suckle on Harry’s bottom lip. Harry hopes he can tell he’s being honest. He could probably go on and on about it, too, if his throat wasn’t all closed up. Sniffing, he parts from him wetly after a moment and continues washing his hair. 

“Glad it was you,” he says quietly. 

Unable to help himself, Harry laughs once, loudly and high pitched, wrapping both of his arms around him tightly and cradling him to his chest. This is so much better than every time he’d had to grab his things and hail a cab after leaving someone’s flat. None of what he’d done before counts, he’s decided. This counts. 

Nothing else is said because Harry fears his voice will break, so he gingerly spreads Louis’ legs again to clean him there and wipe the cum off of his stomach, then goes to rinse himself off before they get out. Louis surprises him when he grabs the loofah from him and reaches back for the body wash, cleaning Harry the same way he had just now. 

Harry grins and shuts his eyes, lets himself be pampered back. Louis seems content to take over for now, anyway. He washes his hair and dumps lukewarm water over his back, smoothing a curious line over where he’d left fingernail marks. 

The water runs cold soon after they’ve finished, so he doesn’t let them linger too long. He wraps both of them up in a fluffy towel and wraps a hand around his hip to help him back to the bedroom. 

Without even asking, Louis’ picking out one of his tee shirts from his drawer while Harry slides on a clean pair of boxers, letting Louis step into a pair as well although he has to roll the band several times over before they stay on his waist. Once he’s deemed comfortable enough, Harry peels back the layer of sheets that they hadn’t been on top of earlier and tucks him in, crossing to the other side and turning off the lights. 

“G’night, baby,” Harry murmurs, lips pressed to his forehead. 

Small arms wrap around Harry’s shoulders as they face each other, his eyes adjusting slowly until he can make out Louis’ face. 

“Night, Hazza,” he whispers. 

Harry doesn’t fall asleep until much later, after Louis’ breathing has evened out and he’s certain he’s alright. In fact, when he finally does, he doesn’t even mean to. He’d have been content just to stare at him until morning, really, but Louis’ going to need him then, too. Harry may actually have to carry him around the flat if he can’t walk. 

He tightens his hold subconsciously when Louis whimpers in his sleep. He’d been afraid he would get too attached before, but now he knows he’s too far gone. Harry dreams about hand holding, forehead kisses, and making up for all of the years he got wrong. Harry dreams of getting it _right_. 

+

Morning isn’t as pleasant. Harry isn’t there when Louis wakes up, through no fault of his own. Someone has decided to knock rather loudly on it and disturb their peaceful bubble he’d been swaddled in before he was rudely awoken. 

The clock says eleven forty-five when he passes it in the hall, so he supposes it isn’t actually that early. Still, detangling himself from Louis had been near impossible. He’d pressed a kiss to the middle of his back and pulled the covers over him, hoping he would sleep through the noise. 

He’d slipped on his sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt to answer the door, huffing all the way to the living room. Leaning forward to check the peephole, he rubs some sleep from his eye and frowns. Is that - 

Ana knocks for a fifth time just as he’s reaching down to unlock it, already poised to tell her to fuck off. The moment he gets it cracked, she’s pushing her way inside. 

“Harry,” she breathes, “Hey, I texted you I was coming over.” 

She says it like it means he’d agreed to it, like he wanted to see her in the first place. 

“What do you want, Ana?” 

“Well, I felt really awful about what happened with the whole Louis thing, and I just wanted to say I was sorry,” she has the audacity to look bashful, making a show of biting her lip and lowering her eyes. 

“Have you told him, then?” 

“What?” She asks, genuinely confused. 

“Have you told him you’re sorry,” Harry deadpans. 

“Well, I mean - no, not yet.” 

“So why are you here telling me?” 

All within a few seconds she goes through an array of emotions, her face switching from sad to annoyed to defensive. She stutters a few times as she bounces from foot to foot, eyes flicking around Harry’s flat. He’d like to slam the door in her face but she’s a bit in the way still. 

“Look, Harry,” Ana laughs coyly, suddenly shy, “I know you’ve noticed how I - how I feel about you. I just felt like it was finally time to come clean -” 

“You had five years to tell me. And instead of doing that, you spent most of them talking shit about Louis.” 

He won’t make her feel bad if she had any real feelings, doesn’t think he could do that to anyone. But for how much she bashed Louis? He’s going to make her work for this, and then he’s going to kick her out and hope she learns her lesson. 

“But I - you hated him, too,” she accuses lamely. 

“No, I didn’t. If you hadn’t been too busy talking over me you would’ve noticed that there’s a difference between teasing and being mean.” 

“That’s not fair, Harry, you never said -” she scoffs, “Why are you defending him so much, anyway?” 

Harry fights the smirk off of his face when he pictures Louis in his t-shirt laying in his bedroom, freshly fucked and still smelling of Harry’s signature body wash. His face must give something away because her mouth drops open and she shakes her head, her eyes widening. 

“You like him, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Harry says without missing a beat. “I do. Very much.” 

He gives her a moment for it to sink in while she just stares. Things could have been so different if she wasn’t such an awful person, but Harry’s sort of glad she is. It’s because of her that he got so interested in Louis in the first place, more than just their regular teasing. Though Harry likes to think they would’ve figured it out on their own at some point. 

Harry thinks about thanking her but decides he doesn’t even want to give her that much credit. 

“How could you possibly - he isn’t right for you, Harry.” 

“And why not?” 

“He’s - he’s not like us, Harry. He doesn’t get it. I mean, I could give you what you need and he can’t even -” 

“What is it that I need?” 

He’s enjoying this way too much, watching her stumble for words. 

“You know what I mean,” she gestures. 

“Not sure I do,” he hums. 

Ana leans in toward him and Harry leans back instinctively, her whisper just as loud as her regular speaking voice when she talks. 

“He’s a _virgin_. He’s never even _kissed_ anyone before. I mean, c’mon, Harry. How could he possibly be enough for you?” 

A thousand choice words pop into his brain, a few long lectures about not judging people based on if they’ve slept with someone or not, not to base intelligence or intellect on if they’ve been kissed, on valuing someone more than what their body can do. 

Instead of saying any of that, he bites his tongue and tries to stay neutral. 

“You’re saying I only care about sex, then.” 

“Wait, no - I know you’re not like that.” 

“You’re saying _you_ only care about sex, then.” 

She actually reaches a hand up to pull at her hair, speechless at Harry’s back and forth while he struggles not to laugh at her. 

“Look, Ana,” he says, deciding to stop her from embarrassing herself any further. “You used to be really sweet and maybe if things were different something might’ve worked out. But I’m going to be honest with you - I’m very much in a relationship with someone that I care about way too much to keep having this conversation with you,” Harry shrugs. “And, respectfully, I don’t think I want to see you again.” 

“Wha -” 

Harry can feel Louis behind him before he can see him. He spills out from the hallway and into Ana’s line of vision like some kind of angel, all sleep-soft and still in Harry’s shirt from the night before. 

“Morning, love,” Harry grins down at him, placing his hand over Louis’ on his chest. 

His gaze runs patiently back up to Ana who’s fully gaping now, taking in the sight of him half-naked and wearing Harry’s shirt, clearly having just woken up in his bed. 

This is for all of the times he never stood up for himself, Harry thinks. Louis might be mature enough not to yell or point fingers, but he’s so proud of him for doing this, if nothing else. His message is loud and clear, and Harry hopes this is the last time either of them will have to try to prove it before they’re finally left alone. This is for every time Louis had to sit back and take it while they dished out insults, every time they forced him to dare when he only ever wanted truths. He feels honored to be a part of his final _fuck you_. 

“I don’t - I don’t understand,” she stutters, shaking her head more forcefully like that will make it him go away. 

“I’m sorry, let me put it in terms you would understand,” Harry smiles politely. He grabs the door handle and twists it back toward him while his hand slips down to engulf Louis', nodding once in that direction. “The _truth_ is that you shouldn’t have come here today. We were friends once but Louis and I have grown up. You haven’t.” He catches her eye, “The _dare_ is for you to leave. Make sense now?” 

Huffing angrily, she storms out of the flat in a flurry of chaotic movement, talking under her breath while they watch her go. The door slams shut with a loud thud, and he can feel Louis relax at the same time he does. Maybe truth or dare isn’t all that bad, he muses cheekily. Maybe, just like with Louis, he hadn’t really hated it this entire time. 

“That felt so good,” Louis giggles, hiding his face in the back of Harry’s shirt. 

Spinning around to face him, Harry hugs him tight. “I’m so proud of you,” he grins. “I never thought you would do something like that.” 

“I didn’t either - I wasn’t going to but then I heard what you told her and I felt like I should,” he blushes at admitting he was listening. “Did you mean it?” 

Mouth opening, Harry tries to think back to what he’d said but he comes up empty for anything that would’ve warranted such a question. 

“That we were, uhm, in a relationship?” He supplies. 

“Oh,” Harry chokes, “Uh, if you’re okay with it,” he shrugs, panicking. 

“I think - think I’d like that,” he says, wrapping a hand around Harry’s neck to pull him down into a kiss. 

He winces when Harry pulls him up slightly, planting his feet back on the ground. 

“Oh, are you sore, sweetheart?” Harry coos, rubbing circles over his hips. 

Louis nods, “Yeah. Was difficult just walking over here,” he chuckles lightly. 

Gently, he tries to lift him like he had last night for the bath, picking him up underneath his arms and letting his legs wrap around his waist. He’d planned out the morning, too, a big breakfast in bed and the like, but he figures he can stray from his outline just a bit after being thrown off by their guest. 

“M’sorry she woke you up,” he apologizes, rubbing Louis’ back before he lays him down again on the sheets. 

“It’s okay. Honestly I didn’t care that she came over. I was just nervous when I woke up and you weren’t here,” he says. 

From his tone of voice, Harry knows he shouldn’t push this one. Helplessly curious, he asks anyway. 

“Why?” 

“I just - I was kind of worried that you might not want me anymore after, you know,” he shrugs. 

Harry’s jaw falls slack as his eyes narrow, settling back into his pillows. He knows they haven’t been the nicest to each other in the past, but knowing everything they know now, had Louis really believed he would do something like that? 

“Did you seriously still believe I would do something like that?” 

It hurts. He wants to ignore it and bask in their unproblematic bubble for a while longer but it seems they can never hold onto it for long. He’d just found out that Louis wanted a relationship with him - their first fight shouldn’t be happening this soon. 

“No, Harry, of course not,” he shakes his head. 

“Then why did you say it?” 

In his prolonged relaxed state, Louis’ still a bit out of it. He’s all wide-eyed and breathy, searching for endless validation. His body is slack in Harry’s arms as he tries to speak with the thick emotion in his throat. 

“It was never because of _you_ ,” he sniffles, “I thought maybe I wouldn’t be any good or I wouldn’t have any idea what I was doing. I wanted to make you feel good, too, like you’ve made me feel, but I didn’t know how to.” 

His words make Harry pause for a moment. This entire time Louis hasn’t been all that vulnerable with his insecurities, hasn’t told Harry he’d been nervous although it’d been obvious. It gets him thinking about everything else he might’ve missed as it passed behind Louis’ eyelids, private, self-deprecating thoughts that Harry wasn’t there to soothe. 

“Louis,” he grabs his chin, “You know I wouldn’t judge you for anything like that either way, but I have to be honest -” Harry whispers, “You were absolutely fucking amazing.” 

Louis pushes at his chest with a wet giggle, fresh tears still twinkling in his eyes. Harry smooths a thumb over his lashes to dry them. 

“Shut up,” he says sweetly. 

“I mean it, wouldn’t lie to you about that,” Harry swears, flipping him gently over so he’s on his stomach next to him. “And your body,” he groans, “You took me so perfectly, sweetheart, had me right here.” 

He rubs two fingers over where he’d been inside of him last night, mindful to be careful with him. Louis gasps, spreading his knees so he can grind down against the bed underneath the sheets. In response to his eagerness, Harry lands a tentative slap to one side of his arse and massages it afterward. Louis arches into that, too. 

“Greedy boy,” he smirks. 

“Will - will you tell me more, please?” 

“‘Course, doll. Could talk about you all day, I think,” he smiles. 

Before he begins he rearranges them, pulling Louis up so he can cradle him sideways in his lap. He runs his fingers through his hair leisurely until he’s relaxed, the hint of tears gone from his vision when he looks up. 

With the way the sheets have fallen around them, Harry’s legs are covered but Louis is left bare, shivering in the draft of the room. Harry tugs him even closer for warmth. Without wasting too much time, he reaches a hand down to cup Louis through his boxers. 

“Oh,” he breathes into Harry’s neck. 

“What did you want me to talk about?” 

“Harry,” Louis whines, shifting in his lap, “you know.” 

“You gonna say it for me?” 

Harry punctuates his words with sharp nips to his jaw, red blooming on the skin. He licks around Louis’ ear and tugs on the bottom with his teeth. If he teases him enough, he’ll talk. Harry knows he will. 

“Us,” Louis gasps when he bites particularly hard. 

“Us, hmm? Want me to tell you about how good you were for me? How perfectly you took me for your first time?” 

“Yeah, Harry, please,” he writhes under the weight of the hand cupping his budding erection. 

“It was amazing,” Harry tells him honestly. “Best sex I’ve ever had.” 

From his chest, Louis makes a displeased noise and glares at him. If only he knew how genuine Harry was. 

“I’m serious. I don’t even care if you believe me. I’m going to tell everyone how good you were for me.” 

This time Louis chokes around a moan. 

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into here,” Harry murmurs. “Gonna bring it up when we’re out, when you’re not expecting it. I’ll lean over and tell you how tight you were for me when I was inside of you for the first time and every time afterward.” 

While he isn’t paying attention Harry slides his other hand around to his arse, slipping silently inside of his pants. Louis jerks at the first touch, Harry’s dry finger meeting the loose wetness from the night before. He runs a finger over his stretched rim and continues. 

“How fucking _good_ you were for me, taking my cock like you were made for it. Gonna take every chance I can get to remind you that I was here _first_.” 

Harry slides a finger inside of him at the same moment he squeezes his hand around Louis’ leaking prick, and his smaller body frantically tries to decide which motion to chase. He rocks backwards and forwards awkwardly but Harry keeps his finger still. 

“Do you want to know why I’m going to do that, sweetheart?” 

“Wha - why?” Louis blinks at him blearily, chest rising and falling the closer he gets to his release. 

Feeling possessive and half-drunk with Louis’ submission, he sucks a bruise on the line of his jaw and another a bit further down. An obvious message for anyone who wants to know - Harry’s been here. Louis _allowed_ him to be here. And he’s going to stay for as long as he’s welcome. 

He uses a thumb to rub the head of his cock as the material between them becomes slick with precome, working in another long finger beside the first. Louis’d been paying attention to him when he asked the question but now he’s distracted again, forehead creased and mouth open around nothing, lost in the sensations. 

Harry kisses his open mouth greedily and sucks on the tip of his tongue while he squirms. _So pretty_ , he thinks. He’s all too happy he’s the only one who’s ever seen him like this. 

Once he’s got two fingers inside of him Harry spreads them out tenderly and swallows down Louis’ soft whimper. He’s sore. From Harry. His own hips ruck up into Louis’ body, jostling him and nudging his prostate in the process. 

Louis yelps when he doesn’t ease up the pressure. Instead, Harry keeps his digits on his spot as he fucks them slowly in and back out again and runs a featherlight touch against the short length of Louis’ prick. He tries to keep his thrusts small so there won’t be any pain or chafing more than necessary. 

Restless now, he thrashes in Harry’s hold. Harry can tell he’s close, trying his best to be patient and wait for permission. Louis’ far away again, some blissful part of his brain that knows Harry and nothing else, but he thinks he should get to hear the end of his question. 

“Because you’re _mine_.” 

He pushes up hard against Louis’ prostate and bites another hickey into his collarbone. His hand grips his prick roughly as he begins to come, sobbing dryly and fucking up toward Harry’s fist. 

“That’s it, doll. Give it to me, just like that,” he coos, loosening his grip everywhere it’d become too harsh. 

Shaking, Louis doesn’t say a word throughout his orgasm, but he does meet Harry’s eyes. His noises are small, fragile things, like he’s calling out to Harry in a language all their own. Harry thinks he responds, murmurs back to him appreciatively until he’s calm, but his own brain goes a bit fuzzy at the intimacy of the moment. 

It’s like that he splits Louis’ thighs and reaches between them to get a hand around his own cock, stripping it quickly. He’d already been close and he wants - he wants to come on Louis, mark him all over again in yet another way. 

It doesn’t take much longer, not when Louis curls himself even smaller and opens his mouth again, waiting for what Harry wants to give him. He hadn’t bothered to take his fingers from Louis’ spent hole so they twitch inside of him as Harry comes, sending Louis shifting again. 

White cum stains his skin, scattered up his belly and on Harry’s pec, some landing on Louis’ chin as well. Without having to ask Louis bends to reach it, licking softly at the small pool of it around his nipple. 

Harry moves him until their chests are together, Louis’ thighs spread on either side of his hips. He hums and pets at him in the time it takes for his breathing to even again. 

“You believe me now?” 

He’s expecting a witty remark or something about his teasing, but Louis surprises him again. 

“I didn’t know it could be this good all the time,” he says with a strained voice, “All these years I thought surely everyone was lying. I thought when I finally decided to get it over with it wouldn’t even be worth it in the end.” 

“And now?” Harry gulps. 

“I still believe some of that,” he says. 

Harry’s heart drops some, hurt by the fact that he thought it’d been amazing and Louis felt less than satisfied. Immediately he goes to push away, create some distance, but Louis stops him. 

“It’s you,” he whispers before he can. “It’s so amazing because it’s with you.” 

“Oh,” Harry huffs, laughing abruptly. “ _Oh_ ,” he repeats, “thank you.” 

“Why are you thanking me?” Louis chuckles, reaching a hand up to rub his thumb back and forth over Harry’s jaw above him. 

“I - I don’t know. I thought you were saying you didn’t like it, m’sorry,” he babbles. 

“Loved it,” Louis corrects. “You’re gonna have a hard time getting me to leave your bed now.” 

The L-word sends a shock through his body even though Louis hadn’t meant it that way, but it makes him realize something about himself. In all of his past relationships that’s where he would draw the line - anytime anyone got too close to saying it he would leave, too afraid of the commitment and the connotation behind the words. 

He and Louis aren’t even in a proper relationship and already he can tell that won’t be an issue. His heart speeds up at the image, Louis laid out bare beneath him, tugging Harry down so he can whisper in his ear. I love you. Instead of panic in his chest, Harry feels nothing but sudden, potent emotion. 

On the outside, he masks it well. He can save his dramatic declarations for another time. He figures the trail of lovebites leading from his chin to his chest say enough for now. 

Harry pounces into motion with newfound energy, flipping Louis onto his back as he squawks up at him. Breathless and happy, exactly how Harry wants him. 

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he growls playfully, pinning Louis’ arms above his head. 

“Okay, but like, you’re going to have to give me a minute at least,” he laughs, wincing when Harry cups him again between his legs. 

“I’ll start counting now,” Harry assures. 

He tucks himself back inside of Louis three more times throughout the day, in the bathtub for a second time and when they go downstairs to make breakfast, again when they crawl into bed that night. Louis initiates it each time despite being sore and Harry thinks he comes dangerously close to confessing his feelings afterward, when they’re all sweaty and sated and curled up together quietly. 

It’s on the tip of his tongue all night but he can wait still. They’ve just become official and he isn’t willing to risk any of it now. So every time he thinks he’s going to say something too soon, he grabs Louis, spins him around, and kisses him until his lips go bruised in an effort to keep it in. 

Harry will start counting the days until he gives in now. 

+

After Ana’s visit, things begin to change. She and Emily haven’t tried to contact any of them since and haven’t shown up to the bar for weeks now. He and Louis only manage to hear about it through Liam and Niall. 

In a group text they’d added Harry to, each of them had apologized for what happened but Harry hadn’t let them off that easily. He’d told them he would reconsider their offer only after they’d apologized to Louis, who was really the one deserving of it. And all the more, since he hadn’t officially gotten one from the girls. 

So, reluctantly, Harry drives them downtown to the bar to meet them. Louis can tell where they’re going once they turn down the road, and Harry glances toward him sheepishly. 

“What are we doing here?” 

“There’s some people that want to apologize to you,” he says, opening his door and helping him out of the car. “C’mon.” 

He keeps a tight grip on Harry’s hand but walks inside with him despite his apprehension, eyes flitting around until they find their regular booth. Liam and Niall wave awkwardly at them. 

“Hey, Louis,” Liam starts. 

“What’s up,” Louis slides into the booth, pulling Harry in after him. 

Their eyes linger on where their fingers are still laced together and Harry notices, but he just hides the satisfied grin in his shoulder and lets them do the talking. It’s going to be interesting, he thinks, to see them pleading with Louis for another chance. While Louis might just agree blindly, Harry isn’t willing to walk away until he feels like they’ve made it up to him properly. 

“We wanted to apologize for how we acted,” Niall begins. “We shouldn’t be acting so immature.” 

Liam nods, “Yeah, we realized after you guys left how much we’d been pretending everything was okay but - it wasn’t, not really.” 

They launch into thirty minutes of drawn-out apology that Harry can tell they actually mean, and by the end of it they’ve all gone a bit misty-eyed. They’re quite emotional lately, Harry thinks, chuckling. It’s nice to catch up with them without any distractions, something he hasn’t gotten to do since before they met the girls. 

When he tells them about Ana coming to his house, Liam shares a look with Niall across the booth. 

“What?” Harry asks. 

“Emily came over a few weeks ago when Niall and I were watching a game to ask if we’d be down for a threesome,” Liam whispers, his ears reddening at the tip. 

Niall grimaces openly. And Louis’ laughing so hard next to him that Harry’s shaking with it, too. He can’t even begin to picture what that must’ve been like - doesn’t want to anyway. He throws an arm around the back of Louis’ shoulders and relaxes into the seat. 

He takes a hard glance around the table, noting the difference at seeing them in the middle of the day instead of late at night. If he closes his eyes, he’s back to when he’d just moved here, when they’d all been close. He’d been happy, then. 

Louis leans into him when he launches into a story of his own, gesturing wildly with his hands. He’s staring down at him openly but Harry doesn’t even care if they see, if they have an opinion, although it doesn’t seem like they do. Now he gets to have all of the good things from before, but without the poor decisions. He feels proud when Niall and Liam talk like they used to, when Louis takes his hand underneath the table. Yeah, he’d been happy all those years ago. 

He’s much happier now, though. 

+

A few months later, Harry gets tired of waiting. He’s been tearing his own hair out trying to think of a way to tell him without scaring him off, but he knows he won’t get any sort of closure until he just gets it over with. 

Instead of psyching himself up about it, he feels relatively calm. After a long day at work and the warm bath and dinner they’d had together earlier, Harry feels sated in every sense of the word. He retraces his steps back to the bedroom after putting the last of the dishes away, trying to mask the bright smile. 

“Truth or dare,” Harry asks, crossing the room and sliding underneath the sheets until their skin touches. 

Louis groans immediately where he’s nestled in their bed, a book open in his lap. He shakes his head and ignores it when Harry nudges him. 

“Just pick one,” Harry hums, bundling him up until he can set him in his lap with his back to Harry’s chest. 

“Fine,” Louis sighs. “Truth.” 

Harry’d known that’s what he would pick anyway, but it makes him grin all the same. As much as he hated playing it

And his answer doesn’t actually make sense with the game but once the idea entered his head he couldn’t get it out again. Louis knows his sense of humor by now, anyway, so he isn’t too worried. The game isn’t what matters, anyway. 

He cradles Louis’ cheek in one hand to tilt his head upwards, pressing a long kiss to his temple and then his lips. 

“I love you,” Harry tells him. 

His face falls slack in his hold for a moment and Harry keeps carefully still while he waits for what he’s going to say. Pushing his hands off, Louis sits up on his knees and kneels over him until he’s sat on his lap, cradling Harry’s face instead. 

He kisses Harry roughly and wetly, refusing to part from him until they’re rolling around in the sheets all over again, breathless and lost in each other. And Harry thinks he’s lovely, really, but he’d also love to hear an answer at some point - 

“Truth or dare?” Louis whispers. 

“Truth,” Harry laughs. 

Louis leans in close again and licks over the seam of his lips playfully, biting Harry’s and then his own. “I love you, too,” he grins. 

There is little that Harry loves more than truth or dare, and Louis. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this fic you can reblog it [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/616887036015706112/like-its-a-game-explicit-32k-bl-what-about) :) 
> 
> thank you for reading! you can find me on tumblr or twitter as @soldouthaz


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